
.-^^ . 



O^ • • • ^ *^% - V 







V, rV^ " • ^ 





O • 1^ 






B »» O ' ^^ 




S^^W, ""o 



TO 

Those true Friends who have given me 
Love, cheer and counsel tenderly, 

Without which hopefulness had died 
And to Those who will gentle be 
In criticism, gratefully 

This humble volume is inscribed. 



PREFACE. 



jl'N presenting the productions of my leisure hours to the 
public, let me first acknowledge that I am gratefully 
indebted to "Letters of Travel'^ from several differ- 
ent persons for descriptions of foreign scenes and places. 
And then, if I have any excuse to offer for my presumption, 
save that of the love of writing, it is embodied in the extract 
from a poem, by an author unknown to me, which I place 
below. M. E. D. 

"I cannot sing a truth-inspiring song, 

If none on earth will listen. 

The angel answered : 'wherefore dost thou sigh ?' 

The courser faints not ere his race be run — 
The meanest blossom may not, cannot die 
Before its work be done. 

If there be none to listen to thy song, 

No ears to heed — no loving eyes to glisten — 
God's little wood — birds sing the whole day long 
And care not v/ho will listen. 

Then lift thy trusting eyes unto the sky, 

For heaven, if earth denies, shall give thee hearing, 
Speak truth undauntedly, and live and die 

Life loving, death unfearing." 



Contents, 



PAGE. 



Glenorie — 

Book First, - _ _ _ g 

Book Second, - - - - - 41 

Book Third, - - - _ 74 
Book Fourth, ----- 106 

Book Fifth, - - _ _ 142 

Other Poems — 

Spring Welcome, _ _ . _ 187 

Dream-land's Rainbow, _ _ _ igo 

To Lucy in Heaven, . _ _ _ jg^ 

My Youngest Niece, _ _ _ ig^ 

Hope's Palace, - - - - _ xgy 

In the Morning, - _ _ _ igS 

Consolation, - _ _ _ _ 202 

Summer Dreamings, _ _ _ 204 

The Three Angels, - _ _ . 207 

September Sunset, - - - - 211 

Shadows, - _ _ _ _ 013 

Guardian Angels, - - _ _ 214 

Spring Zephyrs, - - - - 216 

Death of a Sister, - - . . 218 

A Rainy Day's Musings, _ _ _ 221 

The Bridal, . . _ _ 224 



OO' 



27 



Sunshine, . . . _ 

To a Rivulet in Autumn, . _ _ 229 

Angel Mary, - - - - - 231 

Daily Thought, - _ . _ 234 

New Year's Greeting, - _ _ . 238 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Sowing Time, . _ . _ 240 

The Old Brown House, - - - - 242 

Our Homes, , _ _ . 246 

Eventide, - _ _ . _ 248 

October, ----- 250 

An Extract, . _ . - - 252 

The Waning Year, . - . 255 

My Cousin's Photograph, - _ - 262 

The Brighter Morrow, . - - 265 

A Winter Evening's Dream, - - - 267 

Robin's Carol, - . . _ 270 

Violet May, ----- 272 

Bereft, ----- 275 

Tho'ts of the Season, - _ _ - 279 

The Silent Land, - - - . 282 

Our Way, ----- 285 

A Fragment, - - - - 288 

Day Dreams, ----- 290 

Autumn Shadows, - - - - 295 

A Christmas Memory, - _ - - 298 

Rhymes of an April Day, - - - ^03 

In Memoriam, ----- 306 

Night Musings, - - - - 309 

Spring Gleams, ----- 311 

Centennial June, - - - - 314 

The Story of Nadine, - - - - 316 

Weavings, ----- 336 



GLENORIE 



BOOK FIRST. 

"O, deem not this a romance, 
From common life apart, 
For love hath written poems 
In every human heart." 

CHAPTER I. 

Across New England's rock-ribbed hills, 
The chill December winds were blowing 

The frightened snow, o'er frozen rills 
And barren fields, once richly glowing 

With summer blooms — now past and gone : 
And lo ! within the valleys 
And by the road-side alleys — 
By hedge and fence, they left a heap. 
Rounded and curved ; no art, complete 
With practised chisel, could excel 
These artisans, who wrought so well 

And quickly, as they sped along ; 



lO GLEONORIE. 

Searching each nook and lowly spot, 
Each towering cliiF or lowly grot, 
Each tree and shrub, or withered stalk. 
That summer verdure half forgot — 
Each, was with feathery plumes embossed, 
For not one starry flake was lost. 
And cot and cabin, yard and barn, 
And spacious house, where safe from harm 
The wealthy, by their fire-side warm, 
Were scarcely conscious of the storm — 
And post and gate, and old stone wall. 
Village and town, yes, landscape, all 
Received, likewise, the dainty vesture 
Of snowy folds, whose manufacture 
The dull, gray clouds o'erhead would claim, 
'Tho' all these wild winds sought the fame. 

But evening came at length, and then 

The moon, with face all brightly beaming 
With kindly love for earth, again 

Parted the clouds, and thro' the seaming. 
Sent down into the dark, soft rays ; 

Struck with compunction at their beauty, 
The storm ceased to perform harsh duty ; 
Hushed all the wild winds' havoc. 
And drove them to their mountain bivouac, 
While half in wonder and amaze. 
The stars began to peep between 
The parted rifts, upon the scene. 
They knew it was the Christmas night. 
And felt the earth should glow with light. 



GLENORIE. 1 1 

To welcome in the glorious morn 

On which her Lord, the Christ, was born ; 

So, singing to themselves, the song 

The Shepherds heard, in years agone. 

They sparkled brighter, on their way 

To ope the gate that barred the Day, 
Where fair Aurora sweetly slumbered, 
Waiting return of hosts unnumbered. 

Of guardian angels from the earth. 

To bid her grant the new day birth. 

The evening lengthened : but not late— 

The clock, a quarter past, along the dial 
In Edgewood town, from seven to eight. 

Dreamed not how very great the trial 
Of waiting was to little hearts — 

So anxious for the morrow. 

To wait was vexing sorrow ; 

And time, they tho't, was grieving 

To keep them from receiving 

The favors of St. Nicholas, 

The dear, old man, so curious ! 
How much they wondered at his arts ! 
And wished they could sit up all night. 
For then of him, they would gain sight. 
But sleep at last, their eyes did close, 
Rest held them in her soft repose. 
Dream on, fair sleepers, may the morn 
Bring yoiir bright visions into form ! 
So not one little heart shall grieve 
At what St. Nicholas may leave ! 



12 GLENORIE. 

Sweet innocents, God bless your rest, 
Whom angels love may well be blest! 
Whom angels watch with heavenly care. 
Ought to be angels here and there ; 

And when, called home, they leave us 

To sorrow, deep and grievous ; 

But sweet to know, in Heaven's bright place. 
They "do behold our Father's face!" 

Yet back we turn to Edgewood town — 
Dear Edgewood, evermore the glory 
Of pleasant hills, that rise around 

The birth-place of th' young Glenorie ; 
Of whom, with timorous pen, I write. 
Along the streets the gleaming 
Of lighted lamps was streaming ; 
And soon there came the pealing 
Of church-bells, softly stealing 
Along the still and chilly air. 
Where fell the silver moonbeams, fair 
And saintly, with their heaven-hued light. 
Faintly at first, then loud and clear, 
The bells' rich tones fell on the ear ; 
And this was what they seemed to call — 
'Tis Christmas Eve ! Come one, come all, 
And list the wonderous story, old. 
Of Him whom prophets long foretold 
As King, Messiah! Blessed tho't, 
"Peace and good will" to earth He bro't! 
'Twas love, redeeming love, He gave 
All sinful souls on earth to save ! 



GLENORIE. 

Come then, rejoice and praise anew 

The Lord who bro't such gift to you ! 
Come, list again, the thrilling story 
Of Jesus' life and Bethlehem's glory ! 

Thus rang the bells ; once and again. 

And quick the people answered them. 
Glenorie Lynn in grief, was there, 

For lately had her darling mother 
Deceased ; Glenorie leaving to the care 

Of Gilbert Lysle, her only brother. 
Far distant was his city home. 

In which as yet he lingered ; 
And thus Glenorie mingled 
With those who came to celebrate 
This eve, at church. Quite desolate 
Life seemed to her, a timid orphan. 
For long before the life immortal 
Her sire had gained. She felt alone 

Amid the crowd. Not strange her tears — 
So young — for scarcely fifteen years 
Her life's small circle yet had turned. 
For love and sympathy she yearned ; 
But her remembrance of her aunt 
And cousin rather seemed to daunt 
Her spirit's wish. Her uncle, grave 
And stern, thus memory gave 
His image back to her. With fear 
And dread, and many a tear. 
Her tho'ts went forward to that home, 
'Mid scenes of life, now all unknown ; 



13 



14 GLENORIE. 

And here, within the church now seated, 
Her fears again their dread repeated, 
Till round her all the murmurs ceased. 
And on her spirit peace was breathed. 

All thro' her life Glenorie bore 

. Remembrance of that hour's blest lesson ; 
Oft had she read and heard before, 

Christ's birth and life and passion 
Discoursed of; but her soul, so sad 
With grief and unsoothed sorrow, 
Now felt the sunshine of the morrow 
Beyond Christ's sepulcher : 
She felt — or thus it seemed to her — 
As hence she went, no more dejected — 
That He walked with her, resurrected, 
And gently said, "Dear child, be glad. 
That thou, thro' suffering, yet shalt be 
Perfected : And behold, with thee 
'I am alway ;' No bitter cup 
Thou'lt drink without me, so look up! 
Be trustful, and where 'er God leads 
Go cheerfully ! He knows thy needs, 
And strength will give for every hour, 
If thou but ask His guiding power!" 
Thus comforted, that night she dreamed 
Her mother came and o'er her leaned. 
Her face changed from its care and weakness. 
To wonderous beauty — Heaven's sweetness 
Was in her voice, as she repeated 
These words : "Dear one ! earth-life completed, 



GLENORIE. 15 

Thou'lt come to me, and see more plain 
God's love in ministries of pain.'' 

And when the morning rose to view. 

And woke from rest and happy dreaming. 
The little ones and parents, too, 

To Christmas cheer and gifts, bright, beaming, 
Glenorie far more cheerful seemed 

To those with whom she tarrried ; 
As if the night had carried 

. Her former self far, far away. 
And left instead, that Christmas Day, 
Another child, with heart far lighter. 
Her grief was cheered, her hopes were brighter, 
As her new home before her beamed. 

Thus she continued till the day 

Her uncle came ; and then the sway 

Of peace was ruffled. Must she leave 

All that she loved ? The very trees 

And dwellings all, in Edgewood town, 

Were dear to her ; and tears fell down 

For these familiar sights, as well 

As friends to whom she bade farewell ; 

Then turned to him who hence would be 

The only friend that she could see ; 

And forth she went to meet new scenes. 

That might fulfill or blight her dreams ; 
For truly, to her girlish vision 
Life held some dreams with hue elysian. 

Forth from her childhood's home she went, 

To work her soul's development. 



1 6 GLENORIE. 



CHAPTER II. 



Three years, three fairy-footed years ! 

Three Springs, with all their rich apparel 
Of bright, green leaves and April tears, 

And bird-songs' happy carol, 
Had flung their glorious beauty down 
In sunshine and in shadow, 
O^er hill and spreading meadow. 
O'er wood and upland swelling. 
O'er cot and pleasant dwelling, 
And yet — so runs the story — 
No more was seen Glenorie, 
In haunts she loved in Edgewood town. 
Three summers, too, had laid across 
Her mother's grave the "gold, green moss," 
And autumns three had mournful sighed 
O'er blooms that were those summers' pride ; 
And yet, no more she came to greet 
The friends she left. And where her feet 
Now strayed they none of them could tell ; 
Or whether she fared ill or well. 
One letter, only, had she sent, 
Since to that city home she went. 
Which said. Some boarding school she soon 
Would enter, quickly to resume 
Her education, so neglected ; 
But which the school had been selected 
She knew not : Thus the clue was lost 
Of her, by those she loved the most. 



GLENORIE. 17 

Again the Christmas days have flown, 

With memories tender, sweet and holy — 
Shall we not seek her uncle's home, 

And learn where dwells the lost Glenorie ? 
By steam and rail then swift away 
We hasten on- the journey 
A day and night ; the morn returning. 
We reach a great metropolis — 
Seek some hotel, and stop at this, 
To rest awhile ere we proceed 
To Bedford Square, for there, indeed, 
Is Gilbert Lysle's abode. To-day 
A disappointment waits us there. 
For in that costly home, so fair. 
We do not find Glenorie. Not 
Like Cinderilla's there her lot, 
But love, that makes the heart content. 
Her aunt and cousin had not lent. 
Or given, to the mourning child : 
And tho' her uncle kindly smiled, 
And tried to cheer her when at home. 
Her timid heart was very lone, 
And gladly did she hail the day. 
That bore her to her school away ; 
The paths of knowledge there pursuing, 
She felt again life's hopes renewing, 
While girlish friendships soothed her grief, 
And bro't once more peace's olive leaf. 

Here sped away, almost, three years. 
With one or two short visitations 



GLENORIE. 

At Bedford Square ; for it appears 

Home with some friends she spent vacations. 
Rather than at her uncle's. Now, 
Her school-days being over, 
She had received well-earned diploma, • 
And with her schoolmate, Linda Ware, 
She came again to Bedford Square ; 
But only for a few days tarried. 
For Linda's wishes had been carried 
Into effect. Glenorie knew not how 
Unwelcome was her coming home, 
To cousin Esther. All unknown. 
The shy, plain-looking child had changed 
Into a winsome girl ; and Esther, pained 
With jealous fears, most gladly lent 
Her influence to obtain consent, 
When Linda sought of Mr. Lysle 
Permission, granting for awhile, 
(Two months or more, she would prefer) 
To take Glenorie home with her. 
This learning, we must journey on 
To Linda's home, in Washington. 
Thus reader, with me there repairing. 
We find the two friends happy, sharing 
The charms society e'er tries 
To spread before youth's dazzled eyes. 

Two lovely girls, in truth, they were ; 

Young Linda was a blonde, and fairest 
Was she in features ; and to her 

All hearts turned readily, for rarest 



GLENORIE. 19 

Of harmony was in her voice, 
And in her merry laughter, 
The mellow echo after 
Bird-carol was not sweeter ; 
While richest poems' meter 
Was not more musical ; 
And in her presence beautiful, 
One must be happier without choice. 
Glenorie had those large, dark eyes, 
So wondrous with soul mysteries. 
That make the plainest face appear 
Attractive ; her complexion clear, 
Enhanced the bloom of cheek and lip ; 
And, blest with the companionship 
Of happy Linda, her young face 
Grew yet more pleasing, as the days 
Since here she came had seemed to glide 
Elysian-hued, adown Time's tide, 
But soon there came another dream — 
A strange enchantment it did seem, 
So potent, that long years thereafter 
The fragrance of one flower could waft her 
Back to the bright assemblage where 
She first met Everard Delton Clair. 

And not to her the enchantment came 

Alone ; for when before his vision 
She stood, love lit the undying flame — 

He felt his beacon-star had risen. 
"He is an Englishman, whose birth 
Is lineally noble." 



20 GLENORIE. 

Thus Linda's friend, Wayne Moble, 

Had whispered to Glenorie, 

As they were walking slowly, 

Amid the crowd. "I knew him 

Last summer, while pursuing 
My tour abroad ; and on the earth 
He's one of Nature's noblemen, aside 
From rank or title, which may slide 
Some future day upon his name." 
He finished here, for now they came 
In sight of Clair, and soon exchanged 
The form of introduction. But a pained 
And startled throbbing shook the heart 
Of young Glenorie ; like a dart, 
A nameless fear ran thro' her frame 
And so confused her, that in vain 
She strove the trembling of her voice to still ; 
And gained not her composure, till 
He seated her within Conservatory, 
Where bloomed rich flowers, exotics, rosy ; 
One, as he touched the plant by chance, 
Sent bright leaves down from every branch. 

They fell upon her dress and head, 
As if more gems she did require ; 
He broke a spray and sportive said, 

"I will fulfill the flower's desire. 
They wish you to be crowned as queen, 
And I, most heartily conceding 
The wisdom of their choice, am pleading 
That you, fair Sovereign, will enroll me 



GLENORIE. 21 

Among your knights who boldly 
And faithfully will serve you, 
When danger would unnerve you." 
This said, he placed the flowers between 

The shining braids of her dark hair, 

Then near her side, with courtly air 

Drew up a chair and on it sat, 

While he discoursed with gentle tact 

Of flowery science. Other themes 

He spake of; England's rural scenes — 

Her beauteous lakes, fed by the rills 

Born 'mid the wild, romantic hills, 

And cradled by the grassy vales, 

Where soft winds sing their summer gales ; 

Where, fringed with banks of darkest green. 

They glide old, vexing rocks between, 

Or wind by holly covered steeps, 

Or craggy cliffs where twilight sleeps — 

Till glad at last, a plunge they take 

Into the blue and dimpled lake. 
Then spake of castles gray and hoary. 
Where the wild ivy, famed in story, 

With loving arms would hide from sight 

Time's footsteps, even in daylight. 

Then of the parks and lovely lawns, 

The mountains, too, and forest wildwood. 

Where in the shade the timid fawns 

He'd startled, in the days of childhood. 

Then wondered if the States could boast 
Of fairer scenes or more inspiring? 



22 GLEXORIE. 

Glenorie met his looks inquiring, 
And modestly replied, by giving 
A short, yet beautiful description 
Ot Edgewood views, and then she added 
"I am no judge, for little have 1 traveled 
'Mid rural scenes. 1 love them most, 
But other tourists from your land 
Have beauty found both rich and grand. 
Within our bounds ; and you the same 
Will find."'' "I hope so, for I came 
Intent to spend six months or more ; 
And where I can, I shall explore 
The Western wilds. A friend of mine 
Will join me early in spring time." 
Ere long he talked of Alpine scenes 
And Roman glories : and it seems 
Time flew unheeded by the pair. 
For Wayne and Linda found them there 
An hour later. "Come, dear truant ;"" 
Cried Linda to her friend, "pursuant 

To mother's wish, Tve sought you, come. 
The hour is late, we must go home." 

But from her rest that very night — 

Or rather it was near the morning, 
Glenorie started in afright — 

Say, did her very dreams give warning ? 
That she should cry, "O, Father, save 

Me from the winning stranger!" 

What was the lurking danger. 

That lent a dread so fearful 



GLENORIE. 23 

To her young heart ? All tearful 

Her waking eyes ; as if the dreaming 

Was more reality than seeming. 
Ah! was it shadowings of fate, that gave 

Such boding sense of pain and fear 

When thus she dreamed that Clair was near? 

Long was it ere she slept again, 

So deep the impression left ; and then 

Her sleep was troubled as before. 

Until a sudden light shone o'er 

Her room, and to her vision plain, 

Unless she still was dreaming, came 

An angel form, beside her bed. 

And with sweet voice it gently said, 

"Be calm, my daughter! Be at rest! 

God watches, and He knoweth best, 
For purpose good, thou art appointed 
To walk life's earthly paths, annointed 

With sorrow's oil ; but bear thou up. 

And trustful drink thy mingled cup!" 

Then peace came o'er the troubled face — 

At dawn she woke, refreshed and beaming 
With all her own attractive grace, 

Tho' much she pondered o'er her dreaming. 
The afternoon bro't Wayne and Clair. 

But with his name, the shadow 

Of that strange dread, like spasm 

Of pain, came o'er her. 

And when he stood before her, 

Scarcely the pale lips gave him greeting — 



24 GLENORIE. 

Her heart almost ceased from its beating, 
And wish Uke this, her soul breathed there : 
" Would I could fly, far from his sight 
As sunbeams send their rays of light !" 
She could not fly ; her feet were stone, 
She sank into a seat, and soon was gone 
That fearful feeling ; but replaced 
By its reverse, which quick effaced 
The pain. Yet, O, how strange! To thus 
Be so attracted, where at first 
Such fearful terror came ! But vain 
Tho't tried the mystery to explain. 
Then and whene'er in solitudes, 
She tried to solve these varying moods. 
Which ever came whene'er she met him 
For many days ; but now forgetting 
It all, beneath the charm he lent 
To all his converse, listened with content. 

CHAPTER III. 

To Linda, Clair was ever kind 
And friendly, he her charms respected. 

But every call, he seemed inclined — 
Or to Glenorie was directed 

His first regard. Indeed, a knight • 
He proved himself most faithful. 
For time bro't no abating 
Of his first admiration. 
Like midnight constellation. 
Each evening's "fete" or "soiree" 
Found him beside her constantly. 



GLENORIE. 25 

From Wayne's account of him, all right 

His life and worth. So Mrs. Ware 

Smiled on the friendship of the pair ; 

And thus the happy days flew on, 

And circled into weeks. Anon, 

Those vague, mysterious shadows came 

And filled Glenorie's heart with pain ; 

And once to Linda, she confessed 

The fears, that gave her such unrest ; 

But Linda said, "My precious girl, 

'Tis but love's shadows, Clair's an earl — 

Or will be when his father's dead — 

I think from something Wayne has said. 
But here, disguised, he seeks to win you 
By his own worth — not wealth or tinsel. 

So darling, put your doubts away, 

You'll shine 'mid England's peers some day." 

One eve, perhaps a month or more. 

After they held this conversation, 

Wayne's carriage waited at the door 

To take this night, for recreation, 

Glenorie, Linda, Mrs. Ware, 

To hear a far-famed Senorita — 
(Her name, it may have been Godita) — 
Who sang her last, this evening only. 
While in the parlor, tho' not lonely, 
Some moments, Wayne had waited 
The coming of the ladies, 
There came a ring, and Everard Clair 
Was ushered in. "You would not go. 



26 GLENORIE. 

I tho't," was Wayne's quick greeting. "No, 

I leave the city ere the morn" — 

But here the ladies entered, and ere long 

He had explained. His father, very ill. 

Had sent for him at once. "And will 

Miss Lynn"' — he turned to her — "forego 

The Opera, and an hour or so 

Remain with me ; if Mrs. Ware 

Grants her permission ?"* Soon the pair 

Were left alone ; yet kind adieu 

He bade the rest ere they withdrew. 

Then to a seat he lead Glenorie. 

And sat beside her, speaking lowly. 
In tones that feeling deep betrayed. 
With agitation thus he said : 

"A strange request I have to make. 

My dearest friend, but if you grant it, 
My life henceforth I consecrate 

To bring to you life's joys, enchanted. 
With me this is no idle dream — " 
And then, the old, old story. 
Of love divine and holy, 
Was breathed to her bewildered ears ; 
She only answered him with tears. 
"You love me." Low her whisper, 
"I do not know." He kissed her 
And said, "These tears — do they not mean 
You grieve to bid me now farewell ?"' 
She bowed her head. "Then all is well. 
Look up and tell me you will go 



GLENORIE. 27 

In love and trust — it must be so — 

My carriage waits to take me hence — 

Then let us haste with good intents, 

And seek a chaplain, who shall make 

Us one in name, for true love's sake!" 

Trembling she started from his side — 

"O, Sir, I cannot be your bride!" 

Her heart was beating like a bird's 

Made captive ; but with tender words , 
He drew her back ; again persuaded — 
"Tho' short the time we've been acquainted, 

I feel 'tis best that we should wed" — 

"O, Sir, I am too young, she said." 

"Then trust to my maturer age. 

Seven years should make me wiser, surely. 
If a right progress I have made" — 

"Have you no fears I do not love you truly?" 
"Not one," he answered. "But I'll go, 

If other friends are dearer. Rising 

As if to go — but now, surprising 

To her, a pain came surging 

Upon her heart ; swift urging 

His stay. "You are the nearest 

Of all my friends, the dearest C 
"Then wherefore do you answer no.''" 

Again he plead, and urged again — 

"She ne'er would see him, if in vain 

His suit proved now." And his strong will 

At length prevailed ; for, trembling still, 

She bro't her wraps and went with him 



28 GLENORIE. 

To where a chaplain dwelt within, 
And there they soon were married. Then 
Returned to Mr. Ware^s again. 
"Would I could take you now, with me 
To England, but it may not be ! 
Yet half the pain of parting's gone, 
In knowing now you are my own 
Beloved wife. All other grief. 
From this great joy shall gain relief! 
My precious one, my dear Glenorie, 
You'll be of Delton Hall its glory ! 

'Tis right your husband's name you wear, 
And that has made you, Lady Clair."" 

"But if, until I come again, 

You should prefer to hold our secret 
Within your heart, please say it ; then 

ril write you so that you can keep it." 
"I wish you would," was her reply. 
"Then I must leave you, darling, 
To catch the steamer Starling. 
I will return as quickly 
As I can make it fitting ; 
And write you oft as possible ; 
So dearest, be not sorrowful. 
But give me now a kind good-bye." 
He drew her to his heart, and kissed 
Even more than once her trembling lips ; 
And then the door shut out his form. 
And rolling wheels proclaimed him gone. 
Quick to her room she sped away, 



GLENORIE. 29 

And kneeling there began to pray, 

For at the tho't that she was bound, 

Those fearful feelings came around 

Her frightened soul ; and knowing well 

That prayer alone could break the spell 

Of their strange terror, thus she knelt, 

And weeping prayed, and praying wept. 
Most earnestly of God she pleaded, 
That He would send the help she needed. 

It came at last ; but it was long 

Ere sleep pressed down her eye-lids warm. 

At morn she woke, and soon espied 

The ring Clair placed upon her finger. 
And starting up, she quickly cried — 

As on her couch she did not linger, 
"O, God, it cannot, cannot be! 
I only have been dreaming. 
And soon will pass this seeming. 
As other dreams do vanish." 
But still she could not banish 
The growing truth. Again the ring 
Set every pulse to quivering. 
"Away this dread that comes to me! 
Fm not the bride of Everard Clair!" 
And from her hand, in wild despair 
She caught the ring, and flung it far 
Across the room ; but like a star, 
It gleamed upon the carpet ; then, 
Flashed back its diamond light again. 
Into her eyes, like mild rebuke ; 



30 GLENORIE. 

She felt it, and a moment mute 
She stood, then eagerly she ran 
And caught it, and at once began 
To upbraid herself, as quick she slipped 
It in its place. Then to her lips 
She pressed it, murmuring low and sadly, 
"Forgive, dear Clair, that I so madly 
Should treat your gift — I did not mean — 
But, O, so strange this all doth seem I"' 

"Whence do these counter feelings come. 
That fill my soul with tho^'ts uncheerful? 
Have I two spirits linked in one, 
The first all loving, and the other fearful?" 
No answer to her question came ; . 

Nor could she break the sadness 
About her heart. All gladness 
Seemed flown forever. Linda's 
"Good morning," scarcely kindles 
The glow upon her face, that ever 
Before with Linda's presence 
Had come. Her friend beheld the stain 
Of tears at once, and tried to cheer, 
With warm caress and words sincere, 
Her grief. At length she 'spied the ring, 
And smiling touched it, said, "The thing 
Is settled, darling, I suppose, 
He will return to claim his rose ; 
But I'll not quickly let you go, 
So when you write, please tell him so." 
Another kiss, and soon the two 



GLENORIE. 31 

Passed down the stairs, and came in view 

Of Mr. Ware ; who smiling, said 

Good morning to them, and then led 
The way into the room for dining ; 
And Linda, never once divining 

Aught save betrothal bound her friend, 

No other questions did extend. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Two moons, with all their crescent light, 
Had come to earth and shortly tarried, 
Since passed away the fateful night 

On which Glenorie had been married. 
Now, at her uncle's, she awaits 
Lord Everard's will. A letter 
Three times had come. "No better. 
As yet my father seemeth." 
And tho' each missive beameth 
With tenderest affection. 
And fondest recollection, 
Her heart no joyful throb elates. 
Her uncle, in his grave, stern way, 
Was ever kind, but Esther's sway 
Made her unhappy and most sad. 
One day, some friends her uncle had 
Attend him home, who stayed and dined ; 
And when they went, one left behind 
An English paper ; and it chanced 
Glenorie saw it, o'er it glanced — 
'Twas well she was alone, for round 
The room went whirling', as she found 



32 GLENORIE. 

A sudden death made note of there, 

The name, Lord Everard Delton Clair. 
At once her senses all seemed leaving — 
But with great effort, swiftly speeding. 

She reached her room. "Thrown from his horse," 

She read, "and taken up a corpse." 

She read it o'er, reread again, 

But o'er her mind spread such confusion, 
With such a startling sense of pain — 

That she received it as delusion. 
"It is some strange mistake," she said, 

"And soon he'll write" — "the story 

Is false — I live, Glenorie, 

Thus, try not to believe it, 

Nor let your soul receive it 

As truth." And quick the paper 

She tore in shreds, and later 
Put them from sight. Thus comforted, 
"Dear Clair, I'll patiently await 
Your words, ere I believe such fate 
Has come to you." And all the day 
She strove her heavy heart to stay 
Upon this hope. That night she slept. 
Believing that he lived ; but wept 
At morn, for hope was not as strong, 
And as the days dragged slow along, 
Her hope grew fainter. Not again 
A letter to her sad heart came. 
And oft she wept. Sometimes she said 
"If this is true, that he is dead, 



GLENORIE. ^;^ 

'Twas well I kept our marriage secret, 
For he, it seems, did not reveal it. 

Else, of his friends some one would write 

The news to me, his widowed wife."" 

But all this secret sorrow stole 

Bloom from her cheek, and quenched the lustre 
Of her dark eyes, and from her soul 

Took all its sunshine. But to Esther 
This gave new reason for delight, 
For without cause, she hated 
Her cousin, and this sated 
Her strange ill-will. Her mother 
Loved only Esther, and none other. 
And Mr. Lysle, tho' to his sight 

His niece grew pale, still lacked the key — 

The wondrous key of sympathy, 

That held from all his scrutiny, 

The cause of this strange mystery 

That locked her heart. Thus all unsoothed 

Her grief, as she before him moved. 

But God, who never leaves us long 

Without some heart to lean upon, 

Where something of His love doth blend. 

Sent to Glenorie a new friend. 

A Mrs. Gifford, it appears. 

Had visited for many years 
The family ; and came again, now finding 
This youthful girl in sorrow pining. 

And sought with love's sweet tenderness 

To ope the fount of bitterness. 



34 GLEONORIE. 

Glenorie soon was comforted, 

For tho' some dozen years her senior, 
This friend each day but riveted, 

The bond of love and trust between them. 
She was a widow, too, but still 
Glenorie kept her secret. 
"He said that I might keep it, 
If thus I wished," she pondered ; 
And Mrs. GifFord wondered 
Not that Glenorie gave her 
No reason for behavior 
That whispered of deep grief. "I will 
Not question, for enough I see 
In Esther's acts, to show to me 
She feels unwelcome here." Thus tho't 
Kind Mrs. Gifford. "But her lot 
ril brighten, while I stay." Ah! me, 
She little dreamed what was to be ! 
Dreamed not, how much this life to her 
Must owe ! One night death's messenger 
Entered that home, and when he went. 
Naught but the lifeless tenement, 
Where dwelt the soul of Gilbert Lysle, 
Remained. His heart, deceased, erstwhile, 
Refused to make its usual beating, 
And thus he passed away while sleeping. 
Thus, too, Glenorie's heart received 
Another blow, two-fold bereaved. 

Of Mrs. Lysle's and Esther's grief, 
Altho' most serious its appearance, 



GLENORIE. 35 

Pm sure it gained some slight relief, 

When first they learned they might have riddance 
Of her they always called Miss- Lynn. 

Her uncle had intended 

To leave her "well remembered ;" 

But death his call had given, 

Before he'd made provision 

Of any name or nature 

For her. Thus, somewhat later, 
One morning Mrs. Lysle came in 

Her room, and said, "I have been pained. 
Miss Lynn, to find you are not named 
In any will, or late bequest 
Of property, my husband left. 
Therefore, I have been led to gain 
A work for you, thus to obtain 
Your own support. A letter here. 
But just received, has made all clear. 
They want you as a teacher, in 
The Institute where you have been. 
I wrote them, and I think it best 
You should accept their kind request." 
Glenorie read the letter, and made answer, 
"I shall accept it. For your kindness, thank you." 
For she was glad to go, indeed ! 
And Mrs. Lysle, of course, was pleased. 

Dear Mrs. Giffbrd had gone home 

Before this morn, but invitation 
She left Glenorie, soon to come 

And spend with her a long vacation. 



36 GLENORIE. 

Glenorie had designed to go, 
And also visit Edgewood — 
That dear home of her childhood ; 
For there, she tho't enjoyment. 
And likewise some employment 
She could obtain ; intending 
Not long to be depending 
On others, when she came to know 
The contents of her uncle^s will. 
Made long before she came there. Still 
She felt most grateful unto him, 
But now, this letter's offering 
Changed all her plans. Her heart again 
Brightened, as she wrote answer ; then 
Made preparations to depart. 
Her aunt and cousin, now at heart 
Seemed greatly changed ; and many things 
They sought to give her ; murmurings 
Of conscience thus, perhaps, to quiet. 
Glenorie was not blinded by it. 
And took her uncle's gifts alone. 
When forth she went to her new home. 

Yes, for a dearer, happier home 

She found, arriving at the Institute ; 
For soon, as if from Heaven's pure dome, 

Descending without aid of parachute, 
Peace came at times, her soul to bless. 
And here, for duties caring, 
While Nature was preparing. 
With bud and bloomings, estival. 



GLENORIE. 37 

For richest floral festival, 
A few weeks passed, quite swiftly, 
And then another change came quickly ; 
For Mrs. Gifford's tenderness 

Bro't her to see Glenorie, with a plan 

From which most joyful hopes o'erran. 

"Some friends of mine design to spend 

A year in foreign travel ; wend 

Their route thro' Europe's varied scenes, 

Where interest from each landscape beams ; 

And they've invited me to join 

Them, at New York. Now, very long 

I have desired a chance like this, 

But to complete the expected bliss, 

I must have you, my youthful friend. 

Go with me ; and you may attend 
Me, as companion or as sister. 
Which ever suits you." Here she kissed her 

And added, "Sister once was mine. 

But now, she dwells in Heaven's fair clime. 

Glenorie, half bewildered at the tho't. 

Tried to express the gratitude quick glowing 
In heart and face ; then said, "Tis not 

Myself who can decide my going ; 
But if they will release me here. 

With heart and spirit all imbued 

With love and deepest gratitude, 

I'll go, with great alacrity. 

In whatsoe'er capacity 

You need me, dearest madam ; 



38 GLENORIE. 

As sister or companion V 
••Then 'tts decided, for, my dear. 
I won consent that yon might leave 
Ere I would see you : so believe 
"Tis right that you should go with me : 
And by to-morrow we must be 
Off for New York. Whate'er you need 
There Til obtain ; for now, indeed, 
'Tis understood by you and me. 
That I your banker hence will be. 
A sister now. you are of mine. 
Adopted for all coming time. 
Ample my wealth, yet I'm alone. 
Save one half-brother, who's been gone 
Almost three years in Germany, completing 
His studies there ; but we shall meet him. 
Now, dear one. quickly dry your tears. 
I'm happier than Tve been for years." 

'•And these are blessed tears, kind fi-iend. 
The happiest ever shed by mortal I 

Words cannot thank you ! cannot send 
Upward to Heaven's radiant portal. 

My soul's o'erflowing thanks to Him 
Who graciously hath given 
To my poor heart, so riven 
With grief, your love and friendship : 
And this most precious kinship. 
Which tho' adoption only. 
Will cheer my life, so lonely. 

With scarce a relative. Within 



GLEXORIE. 39 

The last few months of grief IVe known 

More than my uncle's death hath shown : 

And you, who are so good and true, 

I will reveal my secret to." 

Then kneeling by this generous friend. 

Revealed her marriage and its end. 

And after this, another bond 

Was added to the affection fond 

Between them. But I cannot speak 

Of all their converse, sad or sweet : — 

Two days thereafter they had met 

The friends awaiting them ; and yet, 
A few days more it took to finish 
Their preparations. In the "Venice.'' 

It was decided they should take 

Their passage, be it quick or late. 

To Linda Ware, Glenorie wrote 

Before thev were to sail, relating 
Her pleasant prospects, then a note 

To Mrs. Lysle, and in both stating 
The steamer's name in which thev'd leave 

New York. Likewise, mentionins: 

The names of those intending 

To go with them — Miss Langdon, 

A lively girl, her worthy matron. 

A Mr. Ray, a cousin to them. 

And Mrs. Ray, a pleasant woman — 

Indeed, they all were pleasant people — 

With charms enough to more than equal 
Their present failings, I believe ! 



40 GLENORIE. 

And now it chanced, as oft it does, 
That some slight change may turn, for us. 
Life's current, or be freighted deep 
With gcod, or ill to make us weep, 
The morrow changed somewhat their plan. 
Quite early, Mr. Ray, a gentleman 
Of old acquaintance, met, likewise 
Intent abroad to travel ; and surprise 
Moved into gladness at the news. 
Before they parted Mr. Hews 
Persuaded Mr. Ray to wait. 
If his friends would, one day, and take 
With him their passage in the "Faulkland," 
Bound for the rocky shore of Scotland. 
The "Venice" sailed, but tempest-tossed. 
Was wrecked, and all on board were lost. 




GLENORIE. 



BOOK SECOND. 

Afar, afar o'er ocean wide, 

'Mid foreign scenes my grief I'll hide, 

Or let it soften into peace, 

While travel, knowledge, shall increase, 

CHAPTER V. 

The Faulkland left her dock at last, 

And o'er the waves with grace went steaming, 
While lingering gaze our travelers cast 
Back, on the shores so fast receding : 
And in Glenorie's soft, dark eyes, 

The soul's pure dew-drops glittered ; 
And those of Marion Gifford, 
Where dwelt the azure splendor 
Of summer lakes, were tender 
With wistful light, half grieving 
For home-land ties. But seeing 
Glenorie's tears, her face with smiles 
3 



42 GLENORIE. 

Quick wreathing, sought at once to cheer 
With love's own words this heart, so dear 
To her. Then added : ''God's sure hand 
Will shield us here, as on the land. 
We'll give to Him our hopes and trust 
And worship ; we will not distrust 
The goodness, which hath formed the seas 
With matchless beauty. How the breeze 
Dimples the waves! Lo, there is a charm 
In their glad motion, to disarm 
All fear." Glenorie, smiling thro' her tears, 
Disclaimed all tho't of timid fears. 
"What could be sweeter for death pillows, 
Than couches 'mid these talking billows. 
That hide such mysteries below 
Them, as they joyful, onward go?" 

Two days of ocean beauty, sped 

The Faulkland on her way, rejoicing — 
Two nights the stars their radiance shed 

On wave and steamer, and our voyagers 
Were quite enchanted ; but a storm 
The third day, o'er the heavens, 
Spread out its clouds of leaden 
And copperas hue. A torrent 
Of rain, swift came ! Discordant, 
The wind's wild voice ! Appalling 
It shrieked, as if 'twere calling 
Some demon's aid, to quick perform 
The fatal deed, that would from view 
Erase the Faulkland and her crew. 



GLENORIE. 43 

And every cheek was pale with dread, 

While every heart did quake, instead 

Of regular beating. But in vain 

The storm king's power — altho' the same 

That wrecked the "Venice." Later date, . 

The Faulkland's building ; thus her fate 

Lay in her strength ; and tho' full long 

Her chance was doubtful ; thro' the storm 

She rode at last, each angry wave, 

Triumphant from untimely grave. 
And when the sobbing clouds rolled eastward, 
And winds their furious wrath had feasted. 

The sinking sun brought out to sight : 

A radiant "bow of promise" bright. 

No other storm, like this, delayed 

The Faulkland's passage ; in due season. 
In Scottish port her anchorage made, 

And here our friends — (not yet I'll leave them) — 
Must visit Glasgow on the Clyde, 

And "Ayrshire," to Burns' memory hallow'd. 
And "Bonnie Doon," and "Kirk of Alloway," 
Then by the lakes, deep pleasure stirring, 
Thro' "Rob Roy's" country on to Stirling; 
Thence, from the fortress walls beholding 
The lovely prospect there unfolding 
Its varied charms, on every side — 

Town, vale and mountains, and the Forth — 
So fair, as toward the sea it goeth. 
Then back to Glasgow they return. 
Past Callendar and Bannockburn, 



44 GLENORIE. 

And other places long renowned. 

Two days thereafter they had found, 

By steamer sailing in and out, 

Thro' Firth and Loch, that cling about 

This coast, a landing place upon 

The Isle of Staffa ; where the stone 

Basaltic, with its pillars tall. 

And crystal columns make the wall 
Of Fingal's Cave — that matchless wonder, 
Whose rocky floor is buried under 

The hurrying waves, while overhead 

An arch of deep, deep rock, is spread. 

Here, listening to the wave's wild song. 

And on the strange scene often gazing. 
All wonderingly, they lingered long. 

Till some memento each obtaining — 
Some curious shell, or bit of stone — 

Then came once more, aboard th' steamer, 
Each feeling they had been a gleaner 
At mystery's gate. Next at lona — 
The *'Sacred Isle," where kings of Scotia 
And Ireland years past were buried. 
They stopped ; but here they shortly tarried. 
. The ruins of a nunnery, o'er grown 
With moss, a chapel for the dead. 
An old cathedral — these they visited. 
Then to the steamer back again 
They hastened, speeding o'er the main 
Once more. When night her shades drew down, 
They all were safe in Oban town. 



GLENORIE. 45 

Next morn they sailed up Loch Linnhe 

To Ballachurlish ; thence to see 

The Glen Coe Pass ; surrounded by 

Steep mountains, rising grand and high 

To torn and jagged summits ; sides, 

Furrowed and seamed with water-slides. 
That formed the river Coe. Wild and dreary 
The scene ; but sense it did not weary, 

Nay, rather charmed. The vision burned 

Brightly in mind, as they returned. 

But soon the Morven hills spread out 

Another beauteous view before them. 
Purple with distance ; while the Mount 

Ben Nevis, farther on, rose o'er them. 
To Inverness they went next day. 

Found much to please. Then Edinburg* 
Received from them a visit thorough ; 
But found most interest in the Palace 
Of Holyrood and the Old Castle. 
Then on to Selkirk. One bright morrow 
They visited the "winsome Yarrow," 
"Saint Mary's Lake," also the meadow 
Of "Burn-Mill," purpled o'er with heather — 
But ah ! We must not longer stay — 
We'll leave them on the road that goes 
To the old Abbey of Melrose, 
So beautiful in its decay. 
Nor shall Dryburg* tempt our way, 
Where clinging ivy's tender grace 



* Pronounce 'boro. 



46 GLENORIE. 

Brightens Sir Walter'sf burial place. 
We quick to Delton Hall must go, 
To seek Lord Everard's tomb ? Not so ! 
He lives'. Perhaps, we're not too late 
To change the strange decrees of fate. 
Can we but whisper to his ear, 
Tidings his heart would joy to hear. 
He lives, altho' within the paper 
Glenorie read his death. Still later. 
It was corrected. Life returned 
At morn, tho' faint the spark that burned. 

So faint, that many days went by 

Ere memory resumed her office ; 
Meanwhile his father died, but not a sigh 

Or word from him proclaimed him conscious. 
Slowly, at last, health came again — 
Sister he'd none, nor yet a brother. 
And long before death claimed his mother ; 
And now his father had departed. 
Leaving the young Earl quite lone-hearted. 
But for his wife — his loved Glenorie, 
Who, now, would be his life, his glory. 
Thus tho't he, as he gained. And then, 
Impatient grew to seek his bride. 
And take her home in joy and pride. 
He had one aunt, a widow left. 
Who at the Hall some time had dwelt 
With her young daughter, Lady Maud, 
Now, scarce sixteen ; and the old Lord, 



t Sir Walter Scott. 



GLENORIE. 47 

When Everard first arrived at home, 

To him his wishes had made known ; 

Which were, his son should quickly wed 

The Lady Maud. And this had led 

Lord Clair his marriage to conceal. 

"'Twill make him worse, I surely feel," ' 
He tho't, but said, "My Lord, be patient, 
When you recover I will take you 

A daughter that shall please us all. 

And be the pride of Delton Hall." 

Thus, for awhile, the subject dropped, 

But was renewed the very morning 
Lord Everard took the ride, that bro't 

So near death's chariot without warning. 
Renewed, but put aside again. 

Revealing not his secret. 

"And now, I think I'll keep it 

Till I bring home Glenorie ; 

Or, I can write the story 

While gone, to Lady Weldon, 

Ere we return to Delton. 
And if displeased with me, she then 
Can leave the Hall for Weldon Heights, 
Her former home, just as she likes. 
Or here remain." And thus resolved. 
He scarce could wait till health had called 
Strength to his frame, ere he made known 
His wish at once to go from home. 
And to his Aunt, who sought to stay 
His journey till a later day, 



48 GLENORIE. 

He said, "The cause you soon shall know, 
And why important I must go 
So soon.'" Then called his faithful page, 
Bidding him quickly to engage 

In preparations for his journey. 

We reach the Hall too late, there learning 
Earl Delton had already gone — 
He sailed from Liverpool that morn. 

CHAPTER VI. 

O, it is strange! Yea, passing strange. 

That in our search for happiness 
Afar from home we often range. 
And miss her in our hastiness ! 
Thus, had the Earl of Delton stayed 

His journey — but a few days waited — 
The chances had been freighted 
With greater prospect of possessing 
The joy he deemed life's richest blessing. 
For, while he went on quest so fruitless, 
(Stern chance had willed the journey useless,) 
Glenorie with her party made 

Their tour of England. Once, indeed, 
A carriage, bearing arms and shield 
Of Delton, to the station came, 
Just as they left the waiting train. 
And had the Earl been in it, then. 
Beheld his wife — or yet, again. 
To Southport gone, how changed, indeed, 
This record of their lives would read ! 



GLENORIE. 49 

Or had Glenorie courage gained 

To seek his home, and thus obtained 

The knowledge he was still alive, 

How much of pain from out each life 
Had then been taken. But, too timid, 
Altho' so much she wished to visit 

The resting place where he might lie — 

She dared not speak, and thus passed by. 

Thus oft we hush the heart's deep cry. 

When had we spoken hours momentous 
With joy would come. Again, we fly 

For speech, to sorrows, how portentous! 
So when to speak or silent be. 

We know not. Hard the riddles 
Of these strange mysteries, that bridge us 
To certain bounds. The sequence 
They bring is sure to meet us ; 
And on its wave we forward 
Must go, or in its depths be swallowed, 
As we sail o'er life's changeful sea. 

Thus, too, our travelers onward passed. 

Full many a lingering glance they cast 

On "Grasmere vale." Its lovely scenes 

Of lake, stream, hill and wood — like dreams 

Of its own poet — were as fair 

As when he late had wandered there, 

And caught the beauty of all things 

Into his soul ; whose visionings 

Flowed out in sweetest verse and song, 

'Neath "birchen shade" or "bright, green thorn," 



50 GLENORIE. 

Or fir, or yew, or holly sweet. 

When flowers were brightening every steep, 
And o'er the copse, like veins all golden. 
The broom shook out its blossoms olden ; 

Giving unto his loving heart 

The peace that Nature doth impart. 

Nor did they fail to see the home 

Of Shakespeare — worthy bard of Avon — 
And the old church, where 'neath the stone 
His ashes rest, while mankind praise him. 
Old Warwick, too, they visited ; 

The Castle also. Its first gateway, 
Whose walls were hung with ivy drapery, 
They entered: Here the Tower of Caesar 
Was at the left, and Guy's, believe me, 
Upon the right. Another gateway — 
Another, still, did farther take them 
Into th' inner court, which led 
One to the Baron's Castle. Quite 
A splendid painting, by Vandyke, 
Of Charles the First, was shown them here. 
And in th' Red Drawing Room appear 
Gilt mouldings on the panels there. 
Giving effect most fine ; and rare 
The ornaments and furniture ; 
A cabinet of ivory pure, 
And tortoise shell. Another there. 
Inlaid with pearl ; an image fair, 
Of basalt green. A table, buhl. 
Bronzes and marbles, beautiful ; 



GLENORIE. 51 

And crystal vases, too, surrounded 
With rich device and tracery, abounded. 

And shining here, with all the rest, 

Were paintings from the masters best. 

Another room, with cedar floor. 

Contained the family portraiture ; 
And the Gi!t Drawing Room had more — 

Named Gilt, because the furniture 
Was gilt, enclosing satin white, 
With rich medallion center. 
The Royal Bedroom they did enter, 
And saw Queen Annie's picture, full length, 
Another, too, of Queen Elizabeth, 
And in the Boudoir, Martin Luther's, 
By Holbein painted : yes, I'm sure 'twas. 
Our friends in all these took delight. 
And then to "Rare Old Chester"'' went; 
One morning here was fully spent 
Within the Towers, along the wall 
Surrounding Chester, viewing all 
That lay beneath. Then were they led 
To St. John's church, which Ethelred, 
So strangely by a vision warned, 
Did build, (if rightly were informed,) 
Upon the spot where he should find 
The hunter's prey — a pure, white hind. 
And in a niche his statue stands. 
The hind caressing with his hands. 
Suspension Bridge, across the river, 
Joining the Queen's Park to the City, 



52 GLENORIE. 

They crossed, obtaining here a view 
Most excellent, and beauteous, too. 

Another day they visited 

The ruins of old Beeston Castle ; 
Laid waste in time when Cromwell led 

His soldiers bravely on to battle. 
Here, much of interest did they find 
Within the green enclosure — 
Left free to time's exposure — 
In "keep" and rooms remaining; 
And also, here obtaining 
Another view, abounding 
In country charms, surrounding 
This eminence. Next morn, inclined 
Were they to go to Eaton Park ; 
Near by the Dee, its gateways mark 
Three miles from entrance to the Hall, 
(Whose length, seven hundred feet, in all 
Its buildings.) But the Park was fine ! 
With oaks and elms, where deer recline 
In the cool shade ! Bright fountains, too, 
And statues charming to the view. 
And, like a fairy temple, there 
The large conservatory. Fair 
With radiant flowers, exotics, rich 
In loveliness, there blooming, which 
Were trained to hang along the wall 
Their fragrant vines. Well one might call 
It Eden's bower, so beautiful 
Each room did glow ; while tropical 



GLENORIE. 53. 

Fruits of all kinds, in shade or hue, 
Looked very tempting to the view. 

Then of the mansion, Eaton Hall — 
Its owner, Lord of Westminster, 
Was deemed the richest man in all 

The kingdom : Therefore, please transfer 
Your dream of wealth and beauty here. 
And find it realized. Our party 
Gave it their admiration, hearty. 
Before they left. To Manchester 
Next day they went — God pity her ! 
For, be it foul or sunny weather. 
In this great town of manufacture. 
One thing is true of all its hours — 
The air is filled with sooty showers. 
And clouds of smoke, from year to year. 
Not long, be sure, they tarried here. 
But o'er the hills of Derbyshire, 
A lovely route, they sped away 
To Southport, where they made a stay — 
In this fair city by the sea — 
Of weeks, I think 'twas nearly three, 
For Mrs. Langdon was quite ill ; 
The rest were glad to tarry till 
She had recovered. Here, too, came 
The Lady Maud and mother. Strange — 
Altho' Glenorie passed them oft. 
When with her friends she rode or walked — 
She might not know that Lady Weldon 
Was Lord Clair's aunt, and dwelt at Delton. 



54 GLENORIE. 

But ah ! It was not thus to be ! 
She might not change her destiny ! 

When Mrs. Langdon was restored, 

They did resume their pleasant journey ; 
From Southport on toward Oxford rode, 

To see its far-famed University. 
And here, a day of interest, deep. 

They had. In Christ's Church College — 
That rich abode of art and knowledge — 
In Grand Cathedral, House of Parliament, 
With decorated roof; magnificent 
In stone and beautiful fan-tracery. 
And windows painted fair and graciously ! 
Then, too, what treasures did they meet 
In Bodleian Library ! Books so old, 
They were more precious than if gold 
Veined all their leaves. And paintings there 
Of kings and lords, and queens most fair. 
O, 'twas a royal place, they felt. 
For classic learning ! Something dwelt 
About these walls made dear by time, 
That charmed them, like a spell divine ; 
And in the walks — the grand old trees 
Of lime and chestnut — even these 
The same entrancing spirit kept. 
So that they left all with regret. 
To London next morn were they carried, 
Past cheerful fields, where sunshine tarried 
In golden rapture ; for 'twas plain 
The sky was free from sign of rain. 



GLENORIE. 55 

In London, there was every hour 

Something to call for their attention ; 
St. PauPs Cathedral, and the Tower, 

Whose gloomy history I'll not mention. 
Then London Bridge ; the Strand, Cheapside, 
And Charing Cross and Piccadilly ; 
The National and Dore's Gallery, 
The Gardens, Zoological 
And Kensington's, and Middle Hall. 
To Temple Bar they went, beside 

A day they spent at Westminster ; 

Walked many a grand old cloister ; 

Gazed at the marble statues there, 

And th' Lord's Last Supper — painting rare ; 

And in the Poet's Corner, read 

The praises of the honored dead. 

Then, too, the Palace claimed a share 

Of their attention. Massive, fair, 

Beyond description, its outside ! 

How can I aught within describe ? 

The Royal Gallery, House of Lords, 

The Prince's Chamber — vain my words 
To speak their richness. If they see them, 
'Tis well ; for at the Bank I'll leave them. 

To finish London as they like — 

Another route doth me invite. 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Earl a pleasant passage had 

Across the ocean. Not a letter, 
Had he Glenorie sent ; but glad 



56 GLENORIE. 

To go, himself he tho^t far better. 
Thus, when arrived at Bedford Square 

And Mr5. Lysle's, himself announcing 
As Miss Lynn's friend ; astounding 
The news he heard. "Some weeks since 
She sailed for Europe, in the "Venice ;" 
And we since then have not heard from her, 
Save that there is a floating rumor 
The boat was wrecked, but when or where, 
None know as yet." Then back again 
He hastened to New York — from them. 
The vessel's owners, to obtain 
Their latest news. And soon it came — 
A steamer from the Cuban coast. 
Parts of the "Venice" wreck afloat 
Had found. His heart, with anguish wrung, 
Would not believe, till he among 
The list of passengers her name 
Had seen. What hope could then remain? 
Sadly at last he sailed for home, 
Believing that the Atlantic's foam 
Danced o'er the spot where his Glenorie, 
In death's cold arms, down deep and lowly. 
Was resting ; minding not the grief. 
That filled his soul beyond relief. 

Day after day he paced the deck, 

Unheeding storm, or sunny weather ; 

Night after night he scarcely slept, 
For joy and hope had fled together. 

So little pain his life had known, 



GLENORIE. 57 

This coming of the Master, 

Gently inquiring after 

The fruitage of the harvest, 

For good bestowed in largess. 

On this proud soul, now found him 

With bitter tho'ts abounding. 
"Why, from the treasures, all my own, 
Must I yield up my dearest one. 
Leaving my sky without a sun, 
Or scarce a star to light me on?" 
Ah! Saviour, did'st thou turn, anon. 
Grieving away, at finding there 
"Nothing but leaves," tho' green and fair, 
Where thou did'st hope for fruitage fine — 
The fruit of trusting love, believing thine 
The better will? Yes, thou did'st go 
Awhile from him ; for this I know, 
Earl Delton, when he reached his home, 
Was sadly changed ; morose he'd grown. 
And cold and stern. Some natures thus 
By grief are hardened, for they nurse 
Rebellious tho'ts. When Lady Weldon 

And Lady Maud returned to Delton, 
They found him thus, but wherefore so. 
Not yet 'tis given them to know. 

"The object of my journey proved 
A disappointment." This for explanation, 

Was all he gave them. As time moved 

His wheels, to nature bringing rich collation 

Of autumn gifts and hues, he grew, 
4 



58 GLENORIE. 

It possible, more stern and moody; 
And much friends wondered, why so gloomy 
His father's death had made him ; 
For this they tho't had changed him. 
And Lady Maud, the guileless maiden, 
Whose heart with joy was ever laden, 
Tho' oft she tried, could not undo 
The sorrow-shrouds about his heart. 
Perhaps in time some potent art 
She may discover ; but as yet 
He deemed her as a child. Forget, 
He could not. his lost, lovely wiie ; 
And now, each moment of his life 
Was tortured with a vain regret 
That e'er he left her. Even yet 
She might been with him, thus he tho't, 
If he had ta'en her when their lot. 
By that swift marriage, was made one. 
Thus, tho' he left no work undone 
That duty bro't him, still no gladness 
Lit up the chambers of his soul, where sadness 
Mourned for her presence, day by day, 
As weeks, months, years passed slow. away. 

He dreamed not that the summer air 

Of his own native isle, had lately 
Kissed the dear face, and silken hair. 

Of her for whom he mourned so greatly. 
But she from London went in truth 

To Dover, thence had sailed for Calais, 
And with her party gone to Paris. 



GLEXORIE. 59 

In that gay cit\' of varieties. 
Of colonnades, arcades and balconies. 
Had visited the Galleries, 
The Gardens and the Tuileries, 
The Boulevards, so broad and smooth. 

The Palais Royal and St. Cloud : 

And Pere La Chaise, where art is proud 

To honor graves of noble men. 

Like Marshal Ney and others. Then, 

Had roamed the Park, Bois de Boulogne, 

And other places. Now, had gone 

Upon their route to Heidelberg. 

By way of Brussels and Antwerp : 

And at Cologne they made a stay. 

Sight seeing, of a well-filled day. 

The great Cathedral, beauteous, grand 

In architecture, wisely planned. 
Claimed of them all a kind attention — 
One thing within the treasure-room, m mention. 
A box of solid gold and silver. 
Carved and adorned with precious jewels. 

Containing skulls, which, they were told. 

Belonged to Bethlehem's Magi old. 

And now, they were upon the Rhine, 

That beauteous river, years enchanted 
With beautj's presence : which doth shine 

From flower)- vale to cliff undaunted ; 
Entrancing \-iew5 they have as they sail on — 
On to Mayence : past Drachenfels. 
Which from the river grandly swells 



6o GLENORIE. 

Up, in bold, pyramidal contour. 
At least a thousand feet or more ; 
High, rocky cliffs its east side deck, 
And west are heights of Rolandseck ; 
While ruined tower stands up, upon 
The summit, looking over these 
Down to the base, where clustering trees 
Of Nonnenwerth, complete a scene — 
(The river stretching broad between) — 
Most charming to the backward gaze. 
As they glide on. The purple rays 
Of distance their enchantment lend ; 
For here the river straight doth wend 
Its way along. Then, in and out 
It winds, the hilly banks about ; 
Revealing lovely villages, 
And long, green, level surfaces, 
Till Coblentz they had past. Then smaller 
The river's width ; the hills were taller, 
And perched almost on every one 
Were ruined castles, gray and dun. 

None were alike. Some seemed quite small, 

While others many towers numbered ; 
But picturesque they were, with all 

Their mouldering ruins, ivy-covered. 
A nearer view, perhaps, would take 
Away part of their beauty ; 
But then, there would be truly 
The vine-clad hills remaining. 
Their loveliness retaining. 



GLENORIE. 6l 

- At length they came to Bingen — 
"Fair Bingen ;" here they linger 
An hour, or so, but did not make 

Change in their route. Mayence they soon 

Arrived at, tarried till next noon ; 

And then a pleasant ride they had 

To Heidelberg. And here, the glad . 

Reunion with her brother gave 

Great joy to iMrs. Gifford. Save 

This brother, all her family 

Had sailed across the Silent Sea, ' 

Whence none return. Then, O, what bliss 

Was in their meeting ! Truly, this 

Repaid their separation ! Creston Glaid 

Was one you would not feel afraid 
To love and trust, most loyally ; 
A friend he'd prove — true, royally ; 

And this our party came to own. 

For he a favorite soon was known. 

I have not mentioned, Mr. Hews 

Had, thro' their travels, to Miss Langdon 
Been very partial, and her views 

Oft had consulted, in this fashion : 
"What do think. Miss Effie, say, 

Please give us your opinion ?" 

But now into the kingdom 

Of this small, friendly circle 

Came Creston Glaid ; and certain, 

A pang of jealous feeling. 

O'er Mr. Hews came stealine 



62 GLENORIE. 

For several days, but passed away. 
For naught but gentle courtesy 
Did Mr. Glaid show Effie. He 
For one and all had pleasant word. 
But to his sister did accord 
Most of his converse. Yet he seemed 
Pleased with Glenorie ; often beamed 
New light upon his countenance 
When he addressed her, or by chance 
Heard her expressions of delight, 
Beholding some most lovely sight. 
All places that historic were. 
Or beautiful, in Heidelberg, 
He did not fail to show them. Here for viewing 
One of the oldest, grandest Castles' ruin 
In all the Continent appears, 
Built in the thirteenth century years. 

The University, likewise old, 

Was full of interest, (here, three years 
He'd studied) . Watch-towers bold. 

Upon the neighboring hills. Then Speyer's 
Old palace ruins, from which went 

The famous "Protest" which has given 
The name of "Protestant" division 
To such a large part of the Christian 
Believers, in their prized religion. 
Then to the town of Worms, adjoining 
To Heidelberg, they rode one morning, 
Where Martin Luther's monument — 
One of its kind the finest known — 



GLENORIE. 63 

They saw. A synagogue was shown 

Them, too, some of it built before 

Christ's birth, a hundred years or more. 

Next morning, after their return 

To Heidelberg, they left for Berne. 

And passing Basle, they soon began 

To note the signs of Switzerland. 

The scenery changing — valleys deep, 

And dark, pine woods, and hills more steep, 

Appeared quite frequent. Houses, too. 

Seemed odd and strange to their first view. 
At Berne they spent one day. All here receiving 
Faint glimpses of the Alps beyond, and seeing 

Here, first those bright, luxuriant hues 

That all Swiss pictures do suffuse. 

They saw the bears* and wondrous clock. 

Cathedral and the ogre's fountain — 
But, ah ! I did forget — They made a stop 

At Freeborg, where they heard the organ ; 
And long they kept the memory 

Of those rich strains, harmonious, tender. 
And yet, majestic in their splendor. 
Sometimes they filled the vast Cathedral, 
With sounds the roaring breakers equal ; 
Then, soft and sweet, as if a spirit 
Sang down to earth, or very near it. 
A few days after this, we see 

Our friends in Interlachen, where 
The mountains, steeply rising, there 



* This city is named for bears. 



64 GLZNORIE. 

Shut in the meadow with the stream 
Of Aar flowing. ciir\"ed. between 
Lake Brienz and Lake Thim. And near. 
In these high boundaries, doth appear 
The village. And it matters not. 
Which way you look, from any spot 
Or window thafs a little high. 
A lovely prospect greets the eye — 
The level plain, so green and fair. 
With chestnut tree-tops wa%-ing there. 
And houses grouped, or somewhat scattered. 
And dark old pine-woods in the background. 
Sharp rising up the moimtain sides. 
Where many a peak the cloud-drift hides. 

Look towards the south, the mountain wall 

Opes there to Lauterbrunnen valley. 
'Cross the far side, high over all. 

With radiance that your sight will dazzle. 
Stands Jungfrau, with her sister train 
Of peaks and ridges, snowy laden. 
Ah I glorious is this rojal maiden,* 
When mom or eve the sunlight's splendor. 
Lights with its warmth each shining glacier I 
The ver}- clouds that pass before her. 
Below her summit, do adore her. 
For to her sides they come again. 
And seem to cling in loving broods, 
As if half worshipful their moods. 
Vet, still sublime and calm, she stands 



* The meaning of Jimgfraa, is maiden. 



GLENORIE. 6 



Pure, as if kept by angel hands : 
Her glory tilling all who gaze. 
With admiration, wonder, praise. 
Beyond all f>ower of utterance. But 
The soul's unsi>oken words rise up 
In adoration deep, to Him 
Who placed this loft}- Queen within 
These Alpine regions. Ah I right well 
She lays her sweet, enchanting spell 
Of loveliness on all who pay 
Their homage to her : when the day 
Folds round her its di\inest splendor. 
Or when the moonlight, weird and tender. 
Up 'mid the stars doth crown her there, 
A cr}stal palace, heavenly fair. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Imperfectly, 111 now describe 

The onward route our tourists travel. 
O'er Brienz Lake serene they ride. 

Away, away from Interlachen. 
Up towards the way of Brunig Pass. 

A winding road, which gave them tairlv 
A fine \-iew of the Aar valley. 
Then to Lucerne, by Alpnach sailing ; 
Then up Mount Rigi, there obtaining 
A sight most fair^magnificent — 
In charming combination blent. 
Lakes — sparkling "neath the sun like glass — 
Hills, vales and lovely cottages. 



66 GLENORIE. 

Towns picturesque, and villages, 
And further on the Burmese Alps — 
But ah ! I cannot mention half 
That spread before the raptured eye ; 
While over all the witching sky 
Loving did bend. Hours passed away. 
As they drank in the grand survey. 
Ah ! beauty, sure thy dwelling place 
Is Switzerland ; for here we trace 
Thy footsteps o'er the enchanted ground, 
From flowery vale to blue sky's bound ; 
Thy rarest smiles the fair lakes dimple. 
Thy starry eyes at midnight twinkle 

Within their depths. Each landscape fair. 
Reveals thy robes, rich drapery there. 

Across Lucerne's delightful lake 

They sailed one morn, each moment finding 
New * 'footsteps" ; where bold headlands make 

The shores more varied in their winding. 
Then up the Reuss valley take 

The mountain road, far upward tending, 
Slowly along its route ascending ; 
Oft backward gazing, where the river 
Went rushing, plunging, dashing ever 
Against the rocks, in frantic terror, 
Foaming white cascades in its horror 
At jutting crags, which tried to break 
Its headlong way. Along a gorge, 
High from the water, ran the road 
Close to the bank — on — up — at last, 



GLENORIE. 67 

At DeviPs Bridge — one single arch — 

They cross the stream, and looking up 

The lofty walls of upright rock, 

A narrow strip of sky between, 

Looks in, upon the frightened scene. 

Glad were they when they reached, at last, 

The village Andermatt ; there passed 

The night ; but with the early morn, 

The Uri valley ride along. 
And soon, how changed was all the scenery — 
No houses, trees — nay, all seemed dreary ; 

While, grand in loneliness, the rocks 

Receded to snow mountain tops. 

Later, they reached the Reuss source, 

A glacier's edge, from which it floweth — 
Descending on the other side, of course, 

They passed, ere long, the one whence goeth 
The river Rhone. There, three small springs 
With the cold glacier's tears combining, 
'Tis said, thus form its rising. 
And here our travelers' hearts were gladdened 
Once more with fairer, richer landscape. 
Between the wooded hills the river 
Went dashing onward, swift and swifter, 
Till soon the valley's widenings 
Showed cultivated fields once more, 
And villages. But darkening o'er 
The sky, now came thick, massive clouds. 
That hid the sun within their shrouds ; 
Soon lightning flashes blazed among 



68 GLENORIE. 

Their murky folds, so dark and dun, 
While peals of thunder rang along 
The quaking hills, their deafening song ; 
Scarce had they reached a house, when came 
The heavy drops of sheeted rain ; 
For fearful storm it was, indeed. 
Of hail and rain, and winds, full speed! 
From peak to peak, incessantly 
The lightning leaped, while ceaselessly 
The roaring thunder crashed and pealed, 
Till Nature's wrath, at last, was healed. 

All brightly rose the sun next morn, 

O'er all the wreck and ruin, smiling 
Its calm, sweet peace ; in sunshine warm. 
From all its grief the earth beguiling. 
Could we thus smile, when in our lives 
Some heavy stroke hath taken 
Our idols ! Not forsaken 
Should we appear, tho' frightful 
The wound. God's process, rightful, 
Will heal it back to gladness, 
As earth the storm king's madness 
Receives, and o'er its ruin smiles. 
Thus, thankful for their safety, too. 
Our friends again their route pursue 
Along the Rhone's fair valley ; thence. 
By way of Martigny and Trent, 
To Chamouny, which lies between 
Mont Blanc and Brevent ridges. Green 
The beauteous valley, but the eye 



GLENORIE. 69 

Enchanted turns where, towering high 

Above its massive wall, Mont Blanc, 

In grandeur of its kingly rank, 

Lifts up its snow-clad summit there. 

In vestal whiteness, radiant, fair, 
And near its base those frozen rivers 
Of glaciers gleam, like crystal cities, 

While from the melting ice and snow 

Cold streams of water ceaseless flow. 

Grand was the view from Brevent hill ; 

With this the ladies were contented ; 
They tarried in the village, till 

The gentlemen Mont Blanc ascended. 
At least part way they made the ascent ; 
And then, exhausted with the labor, 
The peril and the certain danger 
Of farther going, they descended, 
Quite satisfied with views presented— 
'Twas well, for ere they reached the valley, 
A fearful storm began to rally 
Around the mountain peaks, and spent 

Its fury there ; while, far below. 

The vale still wore its sunny glow — 

A thrilling contrast, but I ween. 

Such as quite often here is seen. 

At morn from Chamouny they went, 

Passing again the village Trent — 

Along a road, now cut thro' rocks ; 

Thro' gloomy tunnels ; then in spots 

They could look down upon the cots 



TO GLENORIE. 

Of Switzers, perched in sunny grots, 

Five hundred feet or more below. 

On o'er the Forcaz ridge they go, 
Reaching Martigny in the evening, 
With the full moonlight's radiant gleaming 

Flooding the town, as if Hwere glad 

To welcome them from toils they'd had. 

Another day took them to Brieg, 

Thro' scenes magnificent, most truly ; 
Each angle in the road but spread 

Before them some fresh charm of beauty — 
Here lovely mead, there rocky cliff. 

From which, with grace bewildering, 
Looked down some quaint stone building. 
Then slopes, with spruce and pine-wood covered- 
Then deep abysses, o'er which hovered 
Huge rocks, or sand and stones, in masses. 
At which each traveler, as he passes, 
Looks fearfully, lest they unfasten 
That very moment, and come crashing. 
Destruction in their fall, so swift. 

Here, too, were seen, as on the Rhine, 
Old castle ruins, built in time 
Long passed away, by Gothic tribes 
And feudal chiefs. On these hillsides 
The wandering brigands, years agone. 
The wealthy traveler preyed upon ; 
But now the happy peasants toil 
To cultivate each foot of soil ; 
And from their fields of ripened corn. 



GLENORIE. 71 

Our tourists heard the Alpine horn, 

Swell up far o'er the beetling crag, 

From rock to rock, re-echoing back 
Sublime and mellow tones ; combining 
In rich accord, like sweet bells' chiming. 

Here, too, unheeding cliff or stone, 

Down to the valley rushed the Rhone. 

At Brieg they tarried over night, 

The Simplon road next morn ascending — 
A strange, wild road — they reached the height 

When evening shadows were descending ; 
And here again fair views they had. 

Snow-peaks in countless numbers, 

Fair slopes, yet green with summer's 

Rich hues, and barren headland. 

Both north and on th' east do stand. 

Their eager gaze commanding ; 

(Six thousand feet, this landing 
Was up above the vale, still vine-clad.) 
And here, while gazing on the scene — 
Wild as the maddest poet's dream — 
Glenorie was reminded of the hour 
She first had felt Lord Everard's power 
Of converse ; for this matchless road. 
With tunneled rocks and bridges, strowed 
So thickly from its base to height. 
He had described to her the night 
Of their first meeting. Another day, 
As they went down th" desceaJing way. 
She found his version still proved true, 



72 GLENORIE. 

With this addition to her view ; 

The early morn had broH rain showers, 

Thus splendid falls of water powers, 
In white cascade and dashing stream. 
Along the jagged rocks were seen. 

Sometimes a dozen on the sight 

Came suddenly, as downward leaping 
From rocks, a thousand feet in height, 

They joined the river, madly sweeping 
Far down below. And then the vale 

Of Gonda, which they reached in safety, 
Had wonders of a rank most stately ; 
Wildest of all the Alpine scenery 
They yet had passed, or e'er might dream of! 
Awful in horrors ! Here two ridges 
Of massive rock the road-side hedges, 
While oft above them huge stone boulders 
Hung, threatening death to all beholders ! 
Not strange the ladies' cheeks were pale, 
As they these terrors oft did scan ! 
The road along the east ridge ran. 
Built several hundred feet up, o'er 
A chasm, where in madness roar 
The waters of Doveria's river ; but. 
Such awful rocks straight rising up — 
Such deep abysses gaping there. 
As if to gulf them in despair — 
Filled them with awe too deep for words, 
For Him whose boundless power affords 
Sublimest grandeur to these scenes, 



GLENORIE. 73 

Where Nature from her sweetest dreams 

Must wake in terror ! But our travelers 

By other sights at last were gladdened ; 
Rejoiced were they to reach the town, 
That sheltered them, when night came down. 




GLENORIE. 



BOOK THIRD. 



Ah ! what deep pleasure shall I gain 
From these fair cities, which contain 

Italia's beauteous works of Art ! 
Then fair Athenia lures me on 
To trace her steps of glory gone, 
And sacred Palestine, beyond 
The isle-decked seas, with memories fond 

Invites my steps, and chains my heart. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Safe at Milan, once more, we find 

Our tourist friends : and here they tarry 
Some days — so many charms combined, 

From city walls to picture gallery. 
The "Dream in Marble'* here, portrayed 
In the old, grand Cathedral, 
Which in construction owns no equal ; 
Walls, windows, spires and countless column. 



GLENORIE. 75 

And in each niche a statue, almost ; 
Crypt, aisle and dome with interest teeming — 
Ah! truly, wondrous was this "dreaming'" I 
And then at night, the grand Arcade 

Gave them another brilliant sight ; 

So picturesque its blaze of light ; 

Its walls adorned ^vith statues fair, 

And fresco paintings, numerous there. 

Then, near the "military ground". 

Napoleon's *'Arch of Peace"' they found : 

With lofty pillars, arches wide — 

One in the center, two each side — 

With carvings rich, symbolical 

Of great events, historical ; 

In chariot, drawn by horses bronze, 

The Goddess Peace the top adorns ; 

While other figures, too, are there. 

Gracing this work of art so rare. 
Then paintings of Ruben's, Salvator Rosa's, 
Raphael's, and Titian's, in the galleries. 
And the "Lord's Supper", by Da Vinci, 
In fresco near the church St. Grazie, 

And Libraries, rich in classic lore. 

All these filled every hour, and more. 

To Venice next they took their way. 

Pausing to see the Amphitheatre 
Of old Verona, where the play 

Of Romeo, so renowned by Shakespeare, 
Was located. Here a tomb, 
Said to be that of Capulefs, 



76 GLENORIE. 

Another, too, fair Julietfs, 
Was shown them. Also in the city 
Of Padua there was one of Llvy, 
The great historian, and the poet Virgil's ; 
But hence they came, past marble villas, 
With low, flat roofs, where 'mid the bloom 
Of garden shrubs, still bright with flowers — 
Tho' this was in October's hours — 
White nymphs were seen, among the trees. 
And cupids gay ; and fruits like these : 
Grapes, lemons, oranges and gourds, 
Such as this luxurious clime affords ; 
While gods and goddessf'S were there. 
In statue, almost everj-where. 
But soon there rose upon the scene 
Venice, the sea's most glorious Queen. 
"Dreamy old Venice." "City romantic" ! 
With palaces rare and streets all aquatic — 
Royal in splendor, with turret and spire. 
It shone in the sunset, a City of Fire. 

Here quickly passed a week away, 

Filled to the brim with deep enjoyment ; 

The weather, favorable each day, 
Almost seemed made for their employment. 

One morn, upon the Grand Canal, 
In richly cushioned gondola, 
Lulled by the mellow roundelay 
Of near or distant gondolier. 
They drank the dreamy atmosphere — 
Now. in the palace shadows gliding. 



GLENORIE. ^^ 

Now, where the genial sunbeams brighten 
The emerald waves ; so typical 

Of life's strange journey. Thus they spent 

Some hours in indolent content, 

Then near the Rialto's steps did land, 

Pass'd o'er the marble bridge, so grand, 

And stood ere long within the Square, 

Before the church San Marco, there. 

What wonder thrilled them, as they viewed' 

This curious structure ! Plentitude 

Of belfries, spires and turrets, there 

Rose toward the turquoise sky, so fair. 

Byzantine architecture here. 

With Gothic mingled, doth appear 
In costly substance ; here collected 
From foreign lands, and thus erected 

In this grand church, which long hath stood 

Time's ceaseless flow and servitude. 

Within, the floor and ceiling, too. 

Are rich mosaic. Here are columns 
Of porphyry and jasper hue. 

And marble in profusion, almost 
Innumerable. And statues rare, > 

And paintings very beautiful, 

Presenting genius wonderful, 

Of those old, worthy masters 

Of art, in time long past us ; 

Then, from the bell-tower, so fantastic, 

Our friends beheld the Adriatic, 
Bathed in the sunset's glory. There 



78 GLENORIE. 

The waves, suffused with varying light 
Of gold and purple, carmine bright, 
Danced lightly ; while beneath these skies, 
The city, with its mysteries 
Of gleaming palace, glittering dome, 
And crystal streets, all brightly shone. 
Fair Lido, with its groves of trees 
And gardens — floating islands these — 
Likewise, was seen ; and farther on, 
O'er plains of Lombardy, along 
The lovely sky, the Alp peaks, snowy. 
Gave to the view their distant glory — 
A radiant picture, half divine. 
In memory's hall long did it shine. 

The Ducal palace to their eyes 

Gave other paintings. Tintorretto's 
Portraying "Joys of Paradise" — 

Whose praise each tourist, almost, echoes, 
The largest painting, done in oil. 
The world has yet on record — 
Who sees, can ne'er forget it — 
Six hundred figures are within it, 
Children and angels, men and women. 
And every one some way expressing 
That heavenly bliss they are possessing. 
No wonder that it cost the toil 

Of years, to paint it. Others there, 
In fresco are perhaps more fair, 
The richest "Venice crowned" — a glory 
To Paul Veronese's name — so holy 



GLENORIE. 79 

Its beauty. But I may not stay 

To mention all they saw that day, 

In Council Hall or other Halls — 

There are so many on these walls. 

Across the "Bridge of Sighs" they went, 

To see the dungeons, whence were sent, 

'Tis said, full many a criminal 

Dead from the Bridge into the Canal. 
But short their stay 'mid scenes so gloomy — 
Then sought the Academy, large and roomy, 

Where Art in glory doth abide. 

With pictures fine on every side. 

ril not attempt description ; one must go 
And see them, ere they may conjecture 
Of their rare loveliness, or know 

The exquisite thrill of wordless rapture 
They yield. Nor have I space to write 
Of all the charms and wonders, 
They found in rich abundance, 
During their stay in this old city ; 
The last eve, treasured more than any 
Before it, was within the memory 
Of Mr. Hews and joyous Effie ; 
For, floating on Canal in gondola, 
The young moon shining o'er them fondly, 
Leaving long ribbon bands of light 
Far, far behind the gliding boat. 
While dipping oar's re-echoing note 
Filled up the pauses, as they spake 
The sweetest words that e'er might wake 



8o GLENORIE. 

Their heart's responses. Then the bond 
Of pure affection, deep and fond, 
Which time and absence could not sever, 
Was Hnked between their souls, forever. 
O, golden moment in life's hour ! 
O, fairest rose within the bower 
Of earthly bliss ! Thy precious leaves 
Yield fragrance pure to hearts like these, 
Whose future days must all be sweetened 
From this hour's blooming ; also, deepened 
Their visions of that heavenly home, 
Where love's high bliss all souls shall own. 

Next morning, Mr. Hews and Glaid 

Sailed o'er the waters Adriatic, 
To visit other cities laid 

Along the shores, so richly classic. 
Of glorious, old historic Greece ; 
And islands fair, reposing 
Among the group, Ionian — 
Leucadia, Cephalonia, 
And lovely Zante, rich and cosy, 
And Ithica and old Massenia, 
And hilly isle of ancient Creta, 
Famed, also, for heroic deeds. 
Here Solon, the Athenian, known 
As wise law giver, had his home. 
Then ruined Athens, once the Queen 
Of arts and science, like a dream 
Her glory seems ! Yet interest still 
Hangs round her ruins— ever will. 



GLENORIE. 8 1 

r 

Who walks o'er fields of Marathon 

Unmoved, must have a heart of stone ! 

Or Acropolis, or Mar's Hill, 

To St. Paul's memory sacred still, 

Or seeks Hj-mettus' "honied'* bound. 

Or views Parnassus — snowy crowned, 
Walks Plato's classic groves, or Aristotle's, 
Beholds Olympian Jupiter's grand columns, 

Or Theater, or Parthenon, 

Must wake the ghost of glory gone. 

From Athens o'er the .-Egean wave — 

Salamis, Syra, Isle of Delos, 
Where once the oracle, Apollo's, gave 

Counsel in danger — past Mount Athos, 
And Salonica, where Paul preached : — 
Past Theros, rocky Imbros, Lemnos, 
And past the lovely hills of Lesbos, 
(Which was her birthplace, gentle Sappho's ;) 
They sailed — by sacred isle of Patmos, 
Where St. John's vision was directed — 
On, till Mount Ida rose majestic, 
East of Troy's plain. At last they reached 

The Dardanelles. Here sfliding on. 

A lovely view they gaze upon. 

Magnificent in beauty ; islands rise 

From out Marmora's rippling tides, 

While from the shores fair villages 

Look smiling from the lovely hills : 

The Bosphorus and Golden Horn 

Are here : and in the light of morn 



82 GLENORIE. 

Where thousand minarets arise 
From splendid mosques, there brightly lies 
The enchanted city, richly bound 
By soft, blue mountains, set around 
The sky. Thus seemed, to those approaching, 
The Turkish Capital, Constantinople. 
Here, our two friends we'll leave, to visit 
This Moslem City, as they wish it. 

CHAPTER X. 

FROm Venice, Mr. Ray and wife, 

His cousins, Mrs. Gilford and Glenorie, 
Journey, till they, ere long, arrive 

At pleasant, musical Bologna. 
Here tarrying a day or two ; 

Then o'er the rocky Appennines, 
Thro' lovely, wild, romantic scenes, 
They go to Florence, city glorious 
In Academic lore ; victorious 
In art ; for here are many galleries, 
With spacious hall and corridors, 
Where paintings, beautiful to view, 
Perfect in each exquisite tint 
Of shade and color, ornament 
The walls. For many gems appear 
From old and modern painters here, 
Which, in their matchless moldings, gleam 
Life-like, so real do they seem. 
And churches, avenues and square, 
Adorned with statues, likewise rare, 



GLENORIE. 83 

Of gods and goddesses and nymphs, 

And fresco paintings rich in tints ; 

And here are gardens, walks and drives. 

Fountains and lovely parks, besides 
The statues. Then, the bridges stately, 
That o'er the "silver Arno" take you. 

While architecture grand doth greet 

The eye on every side, and street. 

All these, make Florence fair, indeed. 
Surrounded by her lovely hillsides. 
While, flowing thro' the fertile mead. 

The pleasant Arno gently glides 
On thro' the City, where its banks 

Are decked with costly palaces. 

The stranger here finds rarities, 

And novelties I may not mention, 

To well engage the rapt attention 

For weeks and months delisfhted. 

And here our friends decided 
To tarry, till from eastern lands, 

Came back the travelers, Creston Glaid 

And Allan Hews. Thus they engaged 

Rooms for three months ; then leisurely 

Began to w^hile the time away. 

San Ro€€'s church they visited. 

Where tombs are of the illustrious dead. 

One of Giotto's and Galileo's, 

And the great painter, Michael Angelo's ; 

In San Lorenze's, with delight 

They saw the statues "Day and Night," 



84 GLENORIE. 

And "Dawn and Twilight" — much admired 
By all who view them, art inspired. 
Then Saint Maria del Fiore, 
Whose dome surpasses even th' glory 
Of grand St. Peter's Church, at Rome, 
The largest in the world, I own. 

The Campanile near at hand. 

With many bells, so sweet and musical, 
In its construction, stately, grand. 

Is far beyond description, beautiful. 
And there were walks, delightful drives, 
In gardens, and the gay Casine — 
Beloved by every Florentine — 
Magnificent with bright parterre, 
And trees and flowers that radiant were. 
Altho' this Nvas in late November, 
The air was mild as our September. 
Then, too, the library gems, besides 
The gallery treasures, in art rich ; 
And studios of the sculptors, which 
Employed full many a pleasant hour. 
Beholding works whose beauty's power 
Thrilled them with wonder and delight. 
Such marvellous creations ! Quite 
As if the gates of Paradise 
Swung open to their raptured eyes. 
And many forms of heavenly mold. 
And angel grace, they did behold! 
Then for her portrait Effie sat, 
To one Bernardo Bre\iatt, 



GLENORIE. 85 



An artist young, but highly gifted : 
Also Glenorie — Mrs. Gifford 

Desired to have a full length picture 

Of her adopted, lovely sister. 

Young Breviatt could speak well in 

The English language : thus acquainted. 
Somewhat, they had become with him. 

Before the portraits both were painted. 
And to the studio came one day 
Bernardo's wife, Signora 
Ginditta ; and Glenorie 
And Efifie were delighted 
With her. They were invited 
Soon to her palace, gracious 
With wealth's adornings. Spacious 
Apartments, glo^\ing like the day 
At early dawn, with furniture 
Superb : while to the marble floor 
The costly tapestry swept down 
From windows richly stained. Aroimd, 
Were fairy nymphs on ever)' niche. 
And corridors likewise, thro' which 
Stair-cases, massive, graceful wound. 
And in the music room they found 
A deep-toned organ, and a harp. 
And grand piano, richly car\ed : 
And, too, a sweet voiced lute was there. 
Outside the palace, all was fair : 
Qear fountains, murmuring, musical. 
In marble basins, beautiful. 



86 GLENORIE. 

Set round with fragrance breathing flowers, 
That blossom here in winter hours. 

Then birds, with lovely plumage, sang 

'Mid orange trees and dark pomegranate. 
While on the air each clear note rang 

Melodious, as an angel sang it. 
'Twas thus, upon the afternoon. 

When thro' the arching gateway, 
Along the shining pavement. 
Gay Effie and Gleriorie 
Came with the fair Signora, 
Into her home. Here charmed, they lingered 
Till hues of sunset mingled 
With day's, along the sky. Then, soon, 
Ginditta took her lute, and strayed 
With them, beneath the garden shade, 
Down where the lovely Arno flowed ; 
Its waters gleaming, as if gold 
And silver decked them. Overhead 
The clouds, like crimson waves, were spread ; 
Far in the west, a liquid sea 
Of rosy light shone radiantly, 
Down to the mountain's azure bound ; 
While o'er the hills, with fir-trees crowned, 
Streamed far and near th : mellow glow. 
Adown the Arno swift did go 
Light barges, in which peasants, chanting 
Sweet hymns, were seen ; the sunset, glancing 
Upon the waves that showed their flight, 
Left many a path of silver light. 



GLENORIE. 87 

And here, with all around so fair, 

Ginditta woke her lute's soft music ; 
And, adding voice of richness rare, 

Gave them a song — Will you excuse it. 
Dear reader, if I place it here ? 

Mortal hand could never mingle, 
Gold and purple, rose and crimson, 

Richly, as we see them now ; 
Gazing on the sunset glory — 
Changing, brightening, fading slowly. 

Just above the mountain's brow. 

Watching thus, this gleam of Heaven, 
Which so oft this hour is given, 

Making earth almost divine — 
Evening shadows soft descending, 
Cares of day in peace are ending — 

Scarce we note the flight of time, 

Tho'ts of pure and quiet feeling, 
O'er our spirits gently stealing. 

Wake the sweetest chords within ; 
Visions holy, bending nearer, 
Gild the present — earth grows dearer — 

Flown seems every shade of sin. 

Hear us. Father ! Bending lowly ; 
Also, grant thine image holy. 

May within our spirits shine ! 
Day by day, to keep from sinning — 
Thus on earth our Heaven beginning, 

Thou wilt make us wholly Thine. 



88 GLEXORIE. 



CHAPTER XL 



To Sm\Tiia, Mr. Hews and Glaid 

Came on, at length, from Constantinople, 
Past many a beauteous island, laid 

Amid the waves, like gem of opal. 
Shining the blue sea's foam upon. 
At Sm}Tna city spending 
A day or two : then wending 
Again their way, they sailed past Cnidus 
And Isle of Rhodes, on to C\-prus. 
A chain of mountains here surprises 
The eye, from which uprises 
The bold peak of Ohinpus : 
And here some hours they lingered. 
But early on the morrow's dawn. 
The sandy coast of Palestine — 
With brown hills stretching back, between 
The shore and mountains far, was seen 
All glo\sing in the morning's beam. 
Land of a thousand memories ! Green 
With sacred laurels ! Thou dost teem 
With interest that doth waken deep 
Emotions, tender, sad and sweet ! 
Here dwelt the patriarchs, true and tried. 
WTio did in faith viith God abide — 
Prophets, Aposties, lived and died. 
And, more than all the rest beside. 
Here Christ, the Son and loWng Sa\-iour. 
Revealed God's love, and gave the treasure 



GLEXORIE. 89 

Of his pure life the truth to bring, 
And save mankind from grief and sin. 

The Argob region, which extends 

Thro' northern Syria, thick abounding 
With Lebanon mountains ; this, our friends 

Did first explore. Here counting 
The city ruins — "three score towns'' — 
Which once the Israelites in battle 
Took from "King Og," who ruled in Bashan : 
And gave "the half tribe of Manasseh" — 
Rich lands, for dwelling and for pasture. 
And rich and beautiful they found them, 
With Leb'non's cedars thick around them. 
Upon the highest ridge of grounds 
Among the mountains. Many days 
They spent in Bashan — well it pays 
One here to travel, for they found. 
Besides the lovely scenes around. 
Much to instruct. The Druses here 
Have many ancient forms of cheer. 
Their words of welcome, still the same 
Almost, as Abraham's, when there came 
A stranger to his open door. 
Asking for shelter, or for more. 
Hence to Damascus did they go, 
Where Paul once journeyed, long ago. 
And heard those words of wondrous power. 
Which changed his life from that same hour. 
Damascus fair, with garden blooms. 
And fruit trees, breathing rich perfumes. 



90 GLENORIE. 

But sacred Nazareth still contained 

More interest for them ; from thence, going 
To other places, which are laid 

Near and about it, all overflowing 
With memories of Jesus. Here 
Is Cana, where his miracle, 
The first, was wrought, so wonderful! 
And then the plain where multitudes 
Were fed. Here Mount Beatitudes — 
A lovely hill, with double summit. 
Which gives a pleasant prospect from it. 
And from the ridge beside it, clear — 
The Sea of Galilee, below 
Spreads its blue waters ; thro' which flow 
The Jordan waves of darker hue. 
West of the Sea, extends to view 
A sloping plain, from which once smiled 
Magdala, Bethsaida; beside 
Chorazin and Capernaum, too, 
Tiberias, Galilee. Who 
Of all these cities now can see 
Aught save their ruins ? Galilee 
Alone remains. But, all around, 
The hills and plains seem holy ground. 
Here did Christ teach the truth divinest. 
On mourning hearts joy's oil, the finest. 
He poured ; and gave the hungry bread. 
Restored the sick, and raised the dead. 

From Nazareth west, another hill. 
Or ridge, one morning they ascended. 



GLENORIE. 91 

And here a landscape fairer still. 

Before their raptured gaze extended. 
A beauteous valley lay below 

The lovely town of Nazareth, 
Whose dwellings rose, like terraces, 
One o'er the other on the hillside — 
For 'neath a steep hill hangs the village — 
And on beyond was seen Gilboa, 
Mounts Tabor, Little Hermon, lower ; 
While to the left, with peak of snow. 

The Larger Hermon, far away. 

Rose up, majestic in her sway 

O'er mountains, stretching south and north, 

For miles along the Jordan's gorge. 

A little east lay Hattim's plain, 

And round the west were hills again ; 

Where little villages of brown. 

And olive trees, were sprinkled round. 

Still farther on, the morning's rays 

Lit up the Mediterranean waves, 

Where white sails gleamed ; while Carmel's ridge 

Sloped downward to the water's edge. 
Southward, Samaria's range was seen, on 
Beyond the plains of Esdraelon. 

Here Jesus oft, no doubt, did stand. 

Viewing this panorama grand. 

To Shumen, where the prophet bro't 

The child to life, they went ; then Endor — 

And then at Nain they also stopped. 
Where Jesus raised, you will remember, 



92 GLENOKIE. 

The widow's son. Then, o'er the plain 
Of Esdraelon, on to Jenin, 
Where is a palm-grove, fair to tent in ; 
Then past the ruins of old Nablous — 
Now overgrown with plants of cactus — 
Along a grove of olives going — 
Down thro"* the valley of Moreh, 
Where ancient fountains still remain — 
They went to Jacob's tomb and well — 
For both are here, within this dell — 
Where Christ the gospel beauty taught, 
As he with the Samarian talked, 
While resting, waiting the return 
Of his disciples from the town. 
Still o'er the hills they journeyed slow, 
Past Shiloh, where long years ago 
The ark was left ; past Bethel — seen 
Here the bright ladder in the dream 
Of Jacob. On, past Ramah, too, 
Where, when the wicked Herod slew 
The children, thus to crime consenting. 
Was heard great weeping and lamenting. 
Till they Jerusalem one day 
Had reached ; here made a lengthened stay 

So much to view within thy gates, 

Jerusalem, O city sacred 
To all the christian world ! that waits 

To see thy glory duplicated 
In heavenly splendor, pure, divine! 
The Holy City spiritual — 



GLENORIE. 93 

The New Jerusalem, celestial, 

Of which John gave faint intimation 

In vision of the Revelation ! 

But in thy gates terrestrial, 

Our travelers viewed what is left of all 
Thy former grandeur ; for old time, 
And ruthless hands, have made of thee 
A strange, strange jest, it seems to me I 
Still Mount Moriah, where once shone 
The Temple grand of Solomon, 
Remains ; and higher, Zion, too — 
Mount Zion, "beautiful to view'* — 
And here the Pool of Sweet Siloam 
And Bethesda, with waters known 
Of healing virtue. Here, the way 
Where Jesus bore his cross that day 
Of awful sorrow ; when the sky 
In darkness mourned its sympathy ; 
i\.nd here the Sepulchre, where lowly 
He laid, till raised again in glory. 
Triumphant o'er his enemies. 
And all death's fearful asfonies. 



^ts'^ 



One morn they crossed o'er Kedron's brook- 
Intent to spend the day at Bethany — 
Past Mary''s Tomb — ere long they stood 

Within the garden of Gethsemane. 
And here, beneath the olive trees, 
Some time in sad reflection 
They spent ; then made th' ascension 
Of Olive's Mount. Upon it. 



94 GLEN'ORIE. 

They viewed the prospect from it : 
For here a panorama splendid 
Before them was extended. 
Bright in the morning's golden beams 
The city spires and turrets shone, 
"Mid brown, tlat roofs and towers and domes 
Of houses, churches, minarets. 
And then the vale. Jehosaphat's. 
And Kedron's brook, the Pools, and all 
Outside the city's crumbling wall, 
With • -mountains round about it." made 
A charming picture thus portrayed. 
Here Jesus o"er the city wept. 
And prophesied the fate that swept 
Her to the dust. "One stone upon another 
Shall not be left," weeping, as a mother 
Weeps o'er her darling, gone astray 
From virtue's path and wisdom's way. 

At Bethany the\ visited 

The tomb where, 'tis rej>orted, Lazarus 

Laid till Christ called him from the dead. 
Then, down a rocky path, most hazardous. 

They went to the Ap>ostle's Well : 
Drank of the crystal water 
Flowing from out the rock. Then, after 
Winding along a narrow vallev. 
Up. down a hUl, almost a stairway 
Of rocks, they passed Elisha's 
Old fountain, which supplieth 

Pure water for all those who dwell 



GLESORIE. 95 

Around it. Next, at Jericho 

They tarried over night : but go 

At mom across the Jordan, where 

Jesus received baptism rare. 

At noon they reached that mystery 

Of all the earth — the strange Dead Sea — 

And stopped awhile : along its bank 

\'iewing its prospect — dreary, blank 

Almost of living things. Then, on 

O'er many a hill they rode along. 

Past deep ra\-ines, till to their sight 

Appeared a Convent. Here the night 

Was thankfully spent : but morning's ray 

Soon found them far along their wav 

To Bethelehem : passing near the spot 

Where "Shepherd's watched at night their flock," 
So long ago, and heard the singing 
Of angels, jo\^ tidings bringing 

To earth. Arrived at Bethlehem, eld. 

Much here of interest they beheld. 

Next day sped onward, past the lot 

Where Samuel found the shepherd David, 

And made him King : then pjast the spot 
Where Jacob his loved Rachel buried. 

Past Mamre's tield and Abraham's home. 
Till in the beauteous, moon-lit even. 
They came at last to ancient Hebron, 
By wall and watch-tower close surrounded : 
And vineyards fair, were also round it 
Here did they see the cave, Machpelah, 



96 GLENOKIE. 

Where rests the dust of Jacob, Leah. 
And Abraham's, Sarah's here, together 
With that of Isaac and Rebekah. 

All other f>oints of interest known 

They sought. Two evenings after, sight 
Of Zion's walls did glad them : bright. 
In the full moon's enchanting light. 
The city shone from base to height. 
As if in welcome. When had past 
Another week, they took their last 
Long look of Thee, Jerusalem. 
And turned them towards the sea again. 
By olive, oak and s\camore trees. 
And wells and fountains — welcome these 
To travelers in this sultrj- clime, 
During the months of summer time — 
They journey on to Lydda. Night 
Holds them there, but morning's light 
Speeds them along fair Sharon's plain 
To Joppa* ; there awhile remain. 
Viewing this cit}- much renowned. 
Here fruits of all kinds do abound — 
The beauteous palm trees growing near, 
Olive and locust, too, are here. 
And castor-oil and others, rich 
With fruit or shade. I care not which. 

At last they leave the port of Jaffa, 

And sail away for Alexandria, 
To see the wonders of the Nile ; 
And there we'll leave them for awhile. 



* Now called Jaffa. 



GLEXORIE. 97 



CHAPTER XII. 



At Rome's old city — called sublime. 

And "City of Eternal Sadness." 
We tind our tourist friends : this time 

United, all together. Gladness 
Had welcomed Mr. Hews and Glaid. 
When they arrived in Florence. 
Two weeks ago. The occiurence 
Had been marked, yet more strongly. 
With rites, accepted jointly, 
Bv two of these, our party : 
For Allan Hews and Effie 
Were joined in wedlock, ere they made 
Their journey hence to Pisa : where 
They all had been, and tarried there 
A week, before they came to Rome. 
Pisa, the "City of the Dead" — I own 
It seemed quite strange the wedded pair 
Should to this city first repair : 
But then they were not superstitious. 
And in their joy hope smiled propitious. 
Thus 'twas no matter where they roved — 
Sufficient bUss was theirs — they loved. 
In Pisa. aU our friends had seen 
The Campo Santo, which doth teem 
With interest. Lofty arches there. 
And walls adorned \rith colors fair — 
"Diana kissing EndxTiiion." 
And marble angels smiling from 



98 CiLEXORlE. 

Each nook. Here, too, the consecrated 
Earth from Jerusalem — most sacred. 
Had been obtained, to bury those 
Who deemed 'twould hallow their repose, 
Or make more pure the soul escaped, 
To have its earthly home thus draped. 

The Marble Baptistry they saw, 

And heard those sweet and wondrous echoes, 
One can produce there, by the law 

Of air vibrations thro'' the grottoes 
Of space Then the Cathedral old — 

White and black marble its construction ^ 
Its style of architecture, Tuscan, 
And dating back its building 
Some hundred years. Here, still existing, 
The curious lamp, whose oscillations 
Gave to Galileo those suggestions 
Which formed the pendulum theory, bold. 
Then, too, the Bell Tower, leaning out 
Of perpendicular, about 
A dozen feet or more — this, too. 
They visited, and gained fine view, 
From near the summit, of the sea ; 
Mountain and city, and fair lea. 
But now they are in Rome, where stand 
Ghosts of the past on every hand ; 
For every grand old ruin left. 
Doth of magnificence attest 
In ancient Rome. The Coliseum, 
ISix acres covering, overwhelmed them 



GLENORIE. 99 

With awe and wonder ; its vast size, 
And lofty walls, strike with surprise 
All who behold them, even in day-light, 
But more sublime it seems when, fay-like 
In beauty, brightest moonlight falls 
Along the vine-wreathed, crumbling walls. 
Where bright flowers bloom, and sweetest song 
From joyful lark salutes the morn. 

And then the Forum, where are seen 

The Arch of Septimius Severus, 
The Capitol, and Constantine 

And Titus arches ; ruined temples. 
And monuments, in finest style 

Of ancient architecture, 

For admiration or conjecture. 

Here broken columns, capitals. 

With crumbling walls of palaces. 

Where dwelt the ancient Caesars, noble — 

And Via Sacra, Tribune olden ; 

And then, within a temple Pagan, 

They visited a tomb of Raphael, 
And th' old Pantheon's ancient pile. 
Then Pincian hills and gardens fair. 
That overlook the Campagna 
And city ; and the Catacombs — 
So strange and wonderful, these homes 
Of dead antiquity. And the baths, 
Cool and refreshing ; and the vast 
Old ruins still remaining here, 
Like Hercules and Belvidere, 



lOO GLENORIE. 

And then the churches, St. Sebastian, 
And, farther on, the St. John Lateran— 
St. PauPs, beyond the city's wall — 
More beautiful by far than all 
The rest — is built upon the place 
Made sacred by the apostle's grave. 
Then in those rooms, almost innumerable, 
In Vatican, what wonders beautiful 

They saw ! Hours passed like dreams away, 
While here they lingered many a day. 

Likewise, full many times they came 

To view St. Peter's splendid edifice — 
The largest in the world — its fame 
Reaching the gates of Paradise, 
Perhaps ; 'tis surely linked with his, 

Angelo's. Here the court so spacious. 
Flanked by the rows of columns, gracious 
In style, high colonnade upholding; 
And in th' court center, for beholding, 
The famed Egyptian obelisk. 
With two grand fountains near to this. 
Front of the church Christ's statue is. 
And the apostles'. But inside — 
Ah ! who the grandeur can describe ! 
Domes, columns, arches, statues there, 
Mosaics, altars, paintings fair. 
Side-chapels, aisles, and costly tombs 
Of Popes, and other honored ones. 
All placed to give a fine effect, 
Wliich those beholding ne'er forget. 



glenorip:. ioi 

Canova's best — one monument — 

Whose matchless figures represent 
Religion and the Spirit Death, reclining — 
The faces grief and hope combining — 

Each figure beautiful indeed. 

For naturalness naught can exceed. 

One Sabbath they attended here 

The services. (This vast Cathedral, 
'Tis said, will seat, or very near, 

In number, sixty thousand people.) 
Thro' the stained windows softly fell 

The sunlight, richly gilding 

Whate'er it touched within the building ; 

While priests, clothed elegantly, 

Read o'er the service reverently ; 

Then rose the organ's symphony — 

At first low, almost whisperingly. 
Then like the thunder's deafening swell. 
Tones musical, majestic, grand. 
Throughout those lofty arches rang ; 
Re-echoing thro' each nook and aisle. 
Dying away in quivering sighs 
Of melody, at last. Another day, 
From cupola they had survey 
Of Rome's vast city. Lingering here. 
Charmed with the view, soon did appear 
Dark clouds — obeying the behest 
Of storm king — o'er the mountain's crest, 
Like troop of warriors bold, they came — 
Trailing their banners o'er the plain 



I02 GLENORIE. 

Of blue Overhead : the wind, too, rose 

From dreams amid the orange groves. 

And swept the Tiber's yellow waves 

To snowy foam ; till the\ in rage 
Fought with the beach ; then turning, swiftly 
Ran at the speeding boats. The streets were quickly 
Deserted ; then our friends descended. 
And in the church remained, contented. 

Till furious \\ind and dashing rain 

Had left the sky all fair again. 

From Rome they came oer Alban hills. 

Past Ceprano, o'er oak-clad ridges. 
Thro* valleys that were fertile still. 

Past many towns and ancient cities. 
And made a stop at Capua. Then along 
Between the Sea and Apennines. 
Thro" rougrh but not uncheerful scenes. 
They came at last to "pleasant Naples" : 
A city fair, for situation. 
In a half circle almost builded. 
Upon the bay and sloping hillside, 
St Elmo's fortress standing on 

The eminence. Here one obtains 

A splendid prospect. Snowy sails 

Are glancing o'er the bay. the blue 

Sorrentum ridge appears in \iew. 

Where many a lovely village fine. 

With cottage white and sheltering vine. 

Smiles brightly from the slope or base : 

And on the left, old Pompeii's place. 



GLEXORIE. lo; 

And Herculaneum's site, are seen : 

\'esuviiis still beyond. And green 

With mulberr}% fir and olive trees — 

White \-illas scattered in 'mid these — 
Spreads out below a beauteous valley. 
Glowing in sunshine of Italia. 

While from the sea, upon the right. 

Lone Capri's isle app)ears in sight. 

Of course they \'isited the Mount 

VesuN^us : peered down the crater. 
From which the lava rushes out 

Sometimes in streams, both small and greater : 
And gathered many specimens. 

Of various shades of color. 

Quite beautiful. Another 

Route led them on to Cumae : 

Past peak of Chiaja. lovely : 

Along the seashore, past fine ^-illas. 

Thro" valleys strown with many \-ine}-ards. 
O'er hills and on thro' beauteous glens. 
To Puteolis" ancient town. 
Where many ruins still are found. 
Here was the home of Cicero. 
Where arches vast remain to show 
Its former grandeur. By the coast 
Were other ruins, that could boast 
Of Cato's. Pompey's. Xero's name. 
With the few columns that remain. 
At Baiae. once a favorite spot. 
To which the Romans did resort 



I04 GLEXORIE. 

In olden times, they saw the Temples. 

Diana's, Venus', also Mercury's. 
And on beyond the fields Elysian, 
They saw the cape and harbor, Miseum, 

Where all the charms Corinne* describes 

Remain, still clothed with beauty's dyes. 

At Cumae did they tarry, till 

They'd seen the ancient city's relics : 

Then Sybil's Cave within a hill — 

Its rooms adorned with old mosaics — 

They stopped to see, on their return. 
And then awhile did loiter 
By Lake Avernus' lovely water. 
One side of which has hills vine-covered. 
And on the other is constructed 

A wall, which venturous waves discern 
Impassable, when in a storm 
They try to leap its barrier strong. 
Back, o'er the pleasant road they wind, 
To Naples, where at dark they find 
Posolipi's Grotto lighted up — 
A half mile tunnel 'tis, there cut 
In the soft rock — thro' it they pass 
To their hotel; to dream, perhaps, 
Of scenes which Virgil once described, 
Within the precints of their ride. 
Two evenings after this, they left 
Italia's shore. The good ship cleft 

* M aflame <le Stael's Corinne, 



GLENORIE. 105 

The blue waves of the Mediterranean 

With joy, each dancing wave retaining 
Electric sparkles from the sky, 
Where smiled the moon, full-orbed and high. 
Lighting them onward towards the foam 
Of ocean's flood. God speed them home I 




GLENORIE. 



BOOK FOURTH. 

"O, the hurt, the hurt, and the hurt of love !" 

"O, bear me up 
Against the unutterable tenderness 
Of earthly love, my God ; in the sick hour 
Of dying human hope ! Accept 
The sacrifice, tho" dim with mortal tears. 
From mortal pangs wrung forth !" 

"That thou dost know the darkness, proves the light. 

Weep, if thou wilt, but weep not all too long ; 

Or weep and work, for work will lead to song. 

Thou art in God, and nothing can go wrong." 
If to His will thou set'st thy soul aright ! 

CHAPTER XHI. 

Once more, I look upon the web which time 
Within his loom has steadily been weaving, 

Since from Italians beauteous clime 

Our tourist friends went homeward speeding. • 



GLENORIE. 107 

I note, that weeks and months have filled. 
Yea, more than one year's circle, 
Since then. For some the myrtle 
And rose of joy are gleaming, 
Within this life-web's seeming. 
But other friends, neglected 
Too long — now recollected — 
This hour to write of I have willed. 
So reader, if not wearied out 
By all our wanderings about. 
Nor with the flight that bridges o'er 
The distance of two years and more ; 
Come thou with me to this old town, 
By German mountains nestled down ; 
Where springs medicinal are found — 
The warm and cold, both here abound — 
It matters not about their name. 
Enough, they're known to us and fame. 
I fancy that you with me stand 
Admiring this majestic, grand 
Old waterfall above us ; and Til tell you, 
How, but an hour ago, the Earl of Delton 
Stood on the path from whence we gaze. 
Transfixed with joy, then dumb with rage. 

Himself Lady Weldon, and Lady Maud, 
In this old town some days were spending. 

With other English friends — one was the Lord 
Of Castle Greame, whose lands, extending 

Broadly, were near by Delton Hall. 
A gentleman of fine exterior 



Io8 GLENORIE. 

He was, with mind somewhat superior 
To other friends the Earl had ; nearer 
At least he seemed, and also dearer, 
To Lady Maud than any other. 
Was this Lord Greame. None but her mother. 
However, knew her secret ; all 
The others of her friends believed 
She was to wed the Earl. Deceived 
By this. Lord Greame had kept aloof. 
Till Maud unconsciously gave proof 
That she was free. By this made bold. 
Last eve he sought the Earl, and told 
His tale of love ; and asked the right 
To woo and win her, if he might. 
The Earl, surprised, requested time 
To think the matter over. I opine, 
He passed a somewhat sleepless night. 
He felt his cousin could not, quite. 
Take in his heart the place Glenorie 
Still held. But might she not, now older? 
She was a joy within his home ; enough 
To make it hard to give her up. 

The morning found him ill at ease. 

And forth in solitude he wandered. 
"It is my duty still, to please 
My father's wish, if yet I can," he pondered. 
Thus oft we call by duty's name, 
Acts which alone are prompted 
By selfishness. AftVonted 
The Earl would been, at seeing 



GLENORIE. 109 

His tho'ts turned with such leading : 
But woodland paths he threaded, 
Wondering why he dreaded 
So much to meet Lord Percy Greame I 

At length he reached this zig-zag path 

Where we are standing ; but aghast. 

He started back, at first : for there. 

Almost unchanged, unless more fair, 

Than in those days, four years agone. 

Stood Linda Ware, from Washington — 

Or Linda Moble, now. And Wayne, 

A moment later, slowly came. 

With other friends, in sight. And then 

There were warm greetings, and again 

Swift questionings, till each obtained 

Glimpses of how each life had changed 
Since last they met. Time passed not slowly. 
You well may guess — each tho't of her, Glenorie, 

But neither spake, as yet, her name. 

Until the Earl thus said to Wayne : 

"You heard, no doubt, of Miss Lynn''s death. 
Lost on" — "Not so, my lord, she's living!"" 
"■HctlU," cried the Earl, with eager breath, 

His heart with jo}'ful throb upspringing — 
"Not dead I It cannot be I'" "And yet. 

My lord, "tis truth, she's living" — 

And Wayne continued, giving 

Account of how it happened, 

She had not taken passage 

In that ill-fated steamer — 



no (iLENORIE. 

Like jo\ , enchanted dreamer. 
The Earl took in his words. "We met 
Her not a week before we sailed. 
Her home is now at Wareiny;. (ilaid — 
Her huslnuul. Creston (ikiid, owns there 
A tine estate — " ''And do you dare,"" 
Here gasped tlie Earl, while on Wayne's arm 
His hand descended with alarm, 
"Wayne Moble, do you dare to say 
Glenorie's wed another? Stav 
All thot of trifling! Ti-uthfully, 
Upon your honor answer me ! 
'Tis false, the words in jest were said, 
Was't not so?" "Nay, my lord, she's wed — 
A year or more ago ; she married 
One Creston Glaid, and since has tarried 
At Inglewood." Back shrank the Earl, 
His soul in one wild, maddening whirl. 

He clenched his hand, as if to deal 
Death blows, at once, upon his rival ; 

His blue eyes, glittering, shone like steel. 
While o'er his speech rage held the bridle 

Of silence. . Back and to he stalked. 
Like a caged lion raging ; 
Wliile Wayne, in wonder gazing. 
Was thankful Linda left them. 
In answer to a question 
One asked, gone on before them 
A few steps, as Earl Delton 

Spake of Miss Lynn. But now she bro't 



GLENOKIE. I I I 

Him back to sense, as she returned : 

And tho" his jealousy still burned 

Hot in his soul, he summoned pride 

And quelled it, as she paused beside 

Wayne. Then, approaching them, he spake : 

"Dear friends : I grieve that I must break 

Our glad reunion : but away 

Important news calls me to-day. 

And whether I return again. 

To Germany is doubtful. Then 

Will you not come to Delton Hall. 

As \ou return thro' England ?" All 
Their deep regrets expressed for his departure — 
in friendly words, he answered. Quickly, after 

Adieus were spoken, turned away, 

.Strode down the path without delay. 

His lodgings reached, a hasty note 

He penned Lord Percy Greame, consenting 
To his request. Then went and broke 

The news to Lady Weldon, all save mentioning 
The cause of his quick journey. This 

He said : "News bro't this morning 

Forbids me wait the dawning 

Of yet another day : and swiftly 

I must away. But still "tis fitting, 

Yourself and Lady Maud continue 

Your route the same as if I with you 

Also remained. Lord Percy, 

And Lord and Lady Ersley, 
Will still go onward, as you wish ; 



112 GLENORIE. 

And if you tarry, as we planned, 
In Italy, I think Til land 
In England first; at least, I trust. 
To wait your coming. But I must 
Be on my wa\ ."' And then adieu 
He gave her and the fair Maud, too. 
Their ladyships, accustomed to 
His hasty mo\ements, both well knew 
'Twas useless to ask questions : tho' 
Each had observed the unusual glow 
And animation of his face. 
But each within her heart found j^race 
To guess the sudden news he spake of. 
Had pleasure in it, thus to shake off 
The stern, sad look that he had worn 
So steadily, for four years gone. 

And true it was ; altho' his heart 

Was wrung with fearful pangs of jealousy 
By turns, yet still the bitter smart 

Changed into throbs of sweetest ecstacy, 
At tho't "she lives, my darling wife ! 
And when the history 
Of my neglect — its mystery 
I do explain, she will believe me 
And hasten with me speedily. 
To her own home. O, misery ! 
If she has deemed iniquity — 
Or, that with treachery my heart was rife 
Towards her! And yet my strange neglect 
Must have seemed crime, to make her let 



GLENORIE. 113 

Another take my place. On him^ 

The base intruder, rests the sin!" 

And then his anger would again 

Rise, deep and strong, against the man 

Who had so wronged him, with such hate 

He scarcely could with patience wait 

The slow, shnv movements of the train 

That bore him towards the briny Main. 
For with the morning sun's returning, 
He was far speeding on his journey 

Across the varied, broad expanse, 

Towards seaport on the coast of France. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

In Wareing town was Inglewood — 
Beside a beauteous river planted. 
Up, on a bluff it brightly stood, 

A mansion, that seemed half enchanted, 
With bowering trees. Its grounds were laid 
With lovely walks, enamelled 
With' flowers, where fountains dallied 
With sunbeams, rich and golden 
As those of Eden olden. 
The mansion, decorated 
With Gothic roof, was ornamented 
With wide bay-windows, that were made 
For use as well as beauty. At each end, 
Broad, cool piazzas did extend. 
As if to woo the inmates out 
To view the prospect spread about 



114 GLENORIE. 

This lovely seat. Upon the south 
The busy town was scattered out : 
And north and east were hills — wood crowned. 
That stretched down to the vale, where wound 
The peaceful river : towards the west. 
Front ot the mansion, was the crest 
Ot other hills, tar. sloping down 
Into the vale : and then a crown 
Of forest pines, still farther on. 
Rose into view : and close along 
The sky. a line proclaiming mountain summit 
Was seen : where, lovingly, the sun upon it 
Paused, every eve. to take survey. 
Ere closing up the gate of day. 

This was one home of Creston Glaid — 

The young philanthropist and author — 
Whose pen already had essayed 

To draw rich pearls from truth's deep water. 
He had resolved his life to spend 
In the world's battle, nobly 
Defending truth, and only 
The cause of right. Glenorie. 
Before their homeward journey. 
Found much for admiration 
In this, her new relation. 
By ties adoption did extend. 

But. leaving at New York, at last. 
Their tourist friends with farewell grasp, 
And coming to this summer home. 
Where rest and peace were both her own, 



GLENOKIE. I 1 

The daily interchange of tho"t 

And sympathy, like magic wrought 

Strange havoc with her widowed heart. 

The love shed deemed would be a part 

Of all her life for Everard Clair, 

Gave place to something yet more fair. 

Than that sad memory — like a dream 

Of girlhood fading. Less did it seem 
Like a reality, as time went onward : 
Until her heart no longer sorrowed : 

But full of thanks to God above. 

For all this largess of his love. 

Bestowed in gift of these two friends. 

She daily strove to make amends 

For all that in her life might be 

L'nworthy (lod's pure eves to see. 

Thus summer wo\"e htr m\"riad charms, 

In varied tints of loveliness. 
About the earth : and sung her psalms 

Of joy and soul-full tenderness. 
Thro" all the bright and cloud-wreathed days : 
Till autumn — scarlet hooded — 
Left on the hill crests wooded, 
And forest glens secluded. 
Her frost hues. Sandal-footed. 
She glided o'er the meadows. 
And left her light brown shadows. 
Where rich, green blades had drank the rays 
Of summer suns. Their life-blood dried. 
While lovely tiowerets paled and died 



Tl6 GLENORIE. 

As she passed on, to gather in 
The golden grain of Harvesting. 
The ripened fruit she hoarded up 
For winter hours ; and in the cup 
Of grateful hearts she poured the oil 
Of recompense for days of toil. 
But when the nights more chilly grew. 
When earth and skies were weeping, too, 
For beauty flown, she fled away, 
For winter claimed his rightful sway. 
And then Glenorie, Mrs. Gifford, 
And Creston (ilaid, together flitted 

From this fair summer home ; went hence 
To seek their city residence. 

Here, olden friends of Mr. Glaid 

And his loved sister, quickly found them. 
And eagerly the homage paid. 

Of friendly ties that long had bound them. 
Sweet are the joys of social laws, 
When true hearts, sympathetic. 
Relight the spark electric, 
That burns all kinds of weather. 
And joins true souls together. 
Time takes his flight not slowly 
When thus employed, (jlenorie, 
Drawn into this charmed clique, had cause 
For deeper thankfulness and joy. 
But all her blessings did not cloy, 
Or foster self-hood in her heart ; 
Nay, higher worth they did impart. 



GLENORIE. 117 

Her charities yet broader grew. 

Her sympathies were deepened, too — 

Her life grew sweeter, flowing out 

In tenderness to all about 

Her daily walks : as if, more blest 

Herself, the greater wish possessed 

Her soul to bless mankind. And Glaid 

E'er found her ready to give aid 
In all the plans with which philanthropy, 
Inspired by noble, Christ-like charity, 

Sought to improve, raise up mankind, 

From paths where blind men "lead the blind/" 

The weeks on angels" wings flew by, 

Glenorie's wakened soul expanding. 
And in her face and beaming eye 

Shone forth a beauty more commanding. 
And there were gentlemen among 

Her new acqnaintances, who truly 
Would have adored her, had she duly 
Lent them encouragement. But no one 
From her received a word or omen 
Beyond what gentle friendship sanctioned ; 
Thus their fond hopes were each one daunted. 
No tho't of love for any one, 

Save sister love, which might extend 
To any that she could befriend. 
Disturbed her ; for she little tho't 
A stronger tie than this was wrought 
Already round her heart, for him 
She called her brother ; till a sting 



Il8 GLENORIE. 

Of sudden pain one day did wake, 
When Marion, jesting, to him spake 
About a lovely lady friend. 
At first, she- could not comprehend 
\Vh\ these light words should pain her; but 
Ere long the truth came bubbling up. 
And filled her heart with strange confusion : 
And. half in fright at her delusion. 

She grew reserved, and strove to quench 
This love, with all her might and strength. 

The spring airs wooed them back again 
To Ingle wood: and while she braided 
Her sunny locks by brook and glen. 

Till all the trees with green were shaded — 
While bird and breeze love-notes awoke. 
Till earth and sky responded — 
The stern reserve that bonded 
(ilenorie's heart was broken; 
For Creston words had spoken 
His own deep love revealing. 
And she. no tho"t concealing. 
About her hasty marriage spoke. 
And its sad ending ; as a plea 
Against a second marriage. He, 
Quick learning noiu himself she loved. 
Her faint objections soon removed ; 
So when the radiant davs of June 
Came with their gladne^ss and their bloom. 
Their wedding bells were rung ; and joy 
Filled their matched souls without allov. 



GLENORIE. I 19 

And Marion's, too : to see the pair 

United, long had been her prayer. 

And when a year had passed, there came 

A wee, sweet stranger, it was plain 
Her cup of bliss now quite brimmed over : 
And they, the parents, too, discover 

A deeper joy : for all were blest 

In welcoming this dark-eyed guest. 

Ah I magic lies in baby eyes, 

Past all our wits and comprehension — 
As if the guise of Paradi.se 

They wear, to win our fond attention. 
And O, what smiles I What potent power 
Hides in each cunning dimple I 
Its brain so marvelous or simple, 
Enfolds the germ of intellect. 
To guard and guide, and to perfect 
The hidden soul, so wonderful — 
So glorious and beautiful — 
And yet so little known in this life's hour! 
The father left his study oft. 
And held the dainty form, so soft. 
Till slumber's witching mysteries 
Closed up the brightly beaming eyes. 
The mother for a time forgot 
Her life-dream of unselfish work 
For suffering humanity : 
For this new treasure gradually 
Absorbed her soul, her tho'l, her time ; 
Her child was something quite divine. 



I20 GLENORIE. 

Her love so deep, became so strong, 
Perhaps it grew to worship, as along 
Time sped — worship to God belonging 
Alone. Else why, as if for warning, 
Black clouds of sorrow should arise. 
And fill with gloom her sunny skies. 

I know not. But I know one morn 

The sun went down from the horizon 
Of her fair world ; and when 'twas gone, 
She felt all joy that e'er could brighten 
Her lot, had fled. Earl Delton came 

In quest of Inglewood, one evening; 
And questioned, this fact gleaning, 
(Before unto his room repairing. 
Within the oW hotel of Wareing — ) 
Glenorie was a wife and mother ; 
And said his host, "I know of no other 
Acquaintances that I can name, 

Who are more truly wed. In truth, 
Their's is jt soul-union. In my youth 
I was thus blest, but very soon 
My wife was borne unto the tomb ; 
Yet ever since I've joyed to see 
True hearts united." Hurriedly 
The Earl dismissed the subject ; soon 
He sought his couch ; but little room 
His troubled tho'ts gave him for sleep. 
His better angel long did seek 
To turn him from his purpose. *' Leave 
Glenorie to her joy, in peace. 



GLENORIE. 121 



If you do love her thus, so truly, 
What greater bliss can you gain, surely. 

Than knowledge of her happiness ? 

True love its object seeks to bless. 

He put the angel's words aside — 
Again, and yet again, she pleaded — 

But all his soul in anger, cried 

"Mine, she is mine," and so, unheeded 

The angel's words, that "all in vain 
Would be his wish for happiness, 
If sought on base of selfishness." 
He slept at last, but in the morning. 
In spite of all the angel's warning, 
To Inglewood he quick did hasten, 
His resolution all unshaken. 

But varied tho'ts of anger, pain. 
Throbbed in his heart, as he the bell 
Rang nervously. "Your lady — well — 
Is Mrs. Glaid at home?" "Yes, sir." 
Then, being ushered in : "To her 
Please take this card." The servant left 
Him there, alone. Ah ! what a guest ! 
How little did Glenorie know, 
The coming steps would bring her woe, 
As, seated with her lovely child 
And Marion, she looked up and smiled 
Upon the messenger, who said 
"A stranger waits you, Mrs. Glaid." 

She took the card and read, "Earl Delton," 

Gave it to Marion, with the question, 
8 



122 GLENORIE. 

**Some relative of him I knew, 
I think it must be. Do not you?" 

"Perhaps so!" Then Glenorie turned 

To seek her guest, with this conjecture — 
Perhaps some friend the truth has learned — 
But ah I what ghost was this, that met her! 
With outstretched arms, a figure rose 
And said, "My loved Glenorie, 
Your Everard stands before you — " 
But shrinking back in horror, 
With shriek of mortal terror. 
She would have fled. Yet strengthless 
Her limbs became, and senseless 
Her form an instant after. Close 
He caught and drew her to his breast, 
And on her lips warm kisses pressed, 
Low murmuring, loving words, to thrill 
Her back to consciousness ; until. 
Drawn by the shriek, in Marion came. 
And sought to draw the lifeless frame 
From his embrace. Then, when he laid 
Glenorie on a couch, he said, 
"Madam, she is my wife." But not 
A word spake Marion ; quick she sought 
Restoratives, and these applied, 
Until Glenorie part revived, 
And whispered, "'Twas an apparition 
I saw, that frightened me." Her vision 
Becoming clear, the Earl once more 
She 'spied, and fainted as before. 



. GLENORIE. 123 

Then Marion to the Eari said, "Sir, 

Your presence frights her ! Will you leave us ? 
Your errand you can write to her 

When she is able to receive it. 
If she must know it. She is wed 

To one, my brother. Is't not better. 
After your long neglect, to let her 
Still think you dead?" "Nay, madam, 
That long neglect she'll pardon. 
When this she knows, I, also, 
Have tho't her dead ; and, false tho' 
The tiding were, I have," he said, 

"Been faithful to her, and am come 

To take her to my heart and home." 

"She cannot go ; but from her sight 

I pray you hasten, or her life 

May pay the forfeit." At the door 

He lingered, till he heard once more 

Glenorie's voice ; then town-ward went 

To the hotel — there, wrote and sent 

A letter to the "Lady Clair, 

Now Countess Delton." His despair 

And grief when he believed her dead. 

His anguish when he heard she'd wed 
Another, with all explanation 
Of what had caused his long detention, 

And silence, were made note of there ; 

Then begged that she would heed his prayer, 

And grant him audience very soon, 

When all his wishes should be known. 



124 GLEXORIE. 



CHAPTER XV 



Another morn dawned o'er a night 

Of wretchedness to Countess Delton — 
For it appears she had no right 

To any other name — unwelcome, 
Howe'er the truth to her. She knew. 
When consciousness had fully 
Regained its power, that truly 
It was no ghostly vision 
That to her sight had risen ; 
But soul and form unsevered. 
Tho' changed, it ti'as Lord Everard, 
Who had been present to her \-iew. 
And this she said to Marion, who 
Could not deny it, Creston, too — 
(He had been gone that mom from home) — 
When she to him the facts made known 
On his return — tho* soul and heart 
Recoiled -vsith anguish from the smart 
The announcement gave him, could not roll 
The bitter truth back from her soul. 
Trembling he sank into a seat, 
His pale lips stri\ing vain for speech 
To comfort her, his weeping wife. 
"She is my wife!" his spirit cried, 
^'Bu/ O, my God, Pm not her husband T 
Yet silencing the cr)-, he struggled 
To hide his sorrow, and speak cheer 
To this grief-stricken heart, so dear. 



GLENORIE. 12- 

"My darling, dry your tears, I pray ; 

I think this morn, when he discovers 
Your love for him has passed away, 

He'll not disturb you, if as brothers 
And sisters live we hence remain. 
Earth still will have its beaut}- 
For us : "tis not our duty 
To live for self, while others 
Groan under hea\y burdens. 
That call for our emplo\Tnent 
To raise them. Not enjo\Tnent 
Did He, our Master, seek. We, too, can gain 
The joy He had, if while we live 
We work, as once we planned, to give 
Our lives to aid humanity." 
Thus for awhile, all trustingly 
He talked, until Glenorie smiled 
Once more, a sad, faint smile . Their child. 
Waked from her rosy slumbers, bright 
And fresh with innocent delight. 
Was now brought to her mother's knee. 
She caught her up, and in her glee 
Forgot awhile her pain. Then tried 
To hope her jo\-s might still abide 
Within her sight. At eve, the letter 
The Earl had sent was given her. Together 
She and Glaid read it. It was plain. 
He had not been so much to blame. 

"O, cruel fate I" Glenorie cried, 
"I cannot^ do not wish to see him! 



126 GLENORIE. 

'Twere better I had sailed and died 

In that ill-omened, storm-wrecked steamer?" 
"Nay, dearest, let no sinful tho^t 
Add to this hour of sorrow ; 
God will prepare the morrow. 
But we, to-night, possessing 
Firm trust in Him, a blessing 
Can gain. Our grief the deepest, 
He'll turn to peace the sweetest 
True hearts can know! O, let us not 
Fail of that blessing ! Let us bend 
Our wills to Him, the unchanging Friend ! 
'Tis not when skies the fairest glow, 
We nearest to our God can go ; 
But, when subdued and chastened sore. 
He on our bleeding hearts can pour 
The incense of His love divine, 
Which can make all our sorrows shine 
With heavenly glow. Then let us trust 
Whatever He orders will be just ; 
And we shall own and see it right. 
In that fair world where comes no blight 
To love's completeness." But Glenorie 
Could not arise to heights as holy ; 
Her heart clung to its idols here — 
Her trust was drowned with many a tear. 

And now another morn had come ; 

And with it came the Earl of Delton, 
To Inglewood. In that fair home 

He waited for his Countess' presence. 



GLENORIE. 127 

At last she came — but with her Glaid — 

She would not come without him — 

I scarce can write about it — 

So awkward was the meeting : 

So chilly was her greeting ; 

And then at once presented 

Her ''husband Glaid." Relented 
At first the Earl, who bowed and gazed 
With haughty, yet admiring, glance 
At Glaid, whose noble countenance 
Bespoke at once him worthy. Then 
The Earl turned to Glenorie. "When 
My wife remembers that she has 
One husband only, she perhaps 
Will pardon me, if I request 
This gentleman to leave us. Best 
I can explain to her alone 
The errand upon which I've come." 
Then Glaid with fitting words withdrew. 
And said the Earl, "Can this be true? 
My wife, Glenorie, Countess Delton, 
Have you for me no word of welcome, 
After these long, long years of woe — 
My darling, tell me, is this so?" 

"O, Sir! — My lord, what can I do? 

I saw your death within a paper. 
Believed it, till my love for you 

Fled like a dream before the greater. 
And deeper, love that fills my soul 
For him, the honored father 



128 GLENORIE. 

Of my sweet child. O, rather 

I would you had forever 

Believed me dead! Whichever 

Way now my spirit glances, 

1 feel these circumstances, 
Which you nor I could not control, 
Have quite divorced us. O, my lord, 
Accept it thus, and still accord 
To me your mercy!" "Nay, my wife, 
There can be no divorce ! My life 
I stake, that I can win once more 
Your love, as it was mine before, 
When you are with me in my home." 
"But, sir, I cannot leave my own 
Loved husband, and — " "I ask it not; 
We will not part again our lot." 
"I did not mean yourself." "Yet still, 
Knowing I live, is it your will 
To longer be a wife to one who only 
Can be your friend? Think once again, Glenorie, 
And then you will acknowledge — for His plain 
You cannot henceforth here remain. 

You }niist go with me to my home, 

And leave this friend — he'll not be lonely 
As I have been — your child — his own, 

Will be to him a comfort holy." 
She had sat moveless as a stone. 
But now, in haste upspringing. 
From his detaining hand back shrinking, 
She cried in agony, "O, never! 



GLENORIE. 129 

You shall not from me sever * 
My darling child ! To take me 
Thus from her I should hate you ! 
If cruelty like this you own, 

Leave me at once, for to my life 

'Twould be death's dart." "My precious wife, 

If cruel seems my tho't to you, 

What act less cruel would you do, 

If from the father you the child 

Would take with you?" And then quite wild 

Glenorie went — did him upbraid, 

Until the Earl was half afraid 

Her reason was dethroned. All weak 

And pale — at last she could not speak. 

He rung the bell — for she would not 

Let him approach her, and this bro't 
Glaid quickly in, who bending o'er her. 
His words and presence soon restored her, 

And to the Earl she said, "Please haste away; 

I am too ill for aught to-day ; 

But answer I will send to you. 

When I decide what I will do." 



Days crept adown time's noiseless tide, 

And left Glenorie crushed with sorrow ; 
Each morn she said, "I will decide. 

And write the Earl before to-morrow." 
From out her sight she could not bear 
To have her child or Creston ; 
And oft she asked the question 



130 GLENORIE. 

Of God : "What is Thy purpose? 

Would I could know for certes 

Thy wish, Thy will, Thy pleasure! 

Thou gav'st Thy Son, a Saviour 
For all mankind. To prove Thy care 
And boundless love were with men still ! 
Christ gave his all to meet Thy will ! 
Gave up his precious life, that thus 
In spirit he might enter us, 
And by his love and holiness. 
Meek suffering, patience, lowliness 
And purity in everything, 
He thus might cleanse us from all sin. 
And all mankind, when they shall turn 
From sinful paths, where darkly burn 
The fires of passion, thus to each. 
He comes a Saviour, sent to teach 
The purer way that leads to bliss. 
By putting on his righteousness. 
O, Christ! When thou so much hast given, 
To win mankind from sin to Heaven, 
Can / refuse my all of love. 
If God demands it, thus to prove 
My willingness to work with Him, 
In paths like thine, of suffering?" 

Long did she question, weep and pray. 
For light and wisdom to direct her ; 

And strength to walk along the way 
Where she was called by the Protector 

Of those who love Him ; "For all things," 



GLENORIE. 131 

Tis said, "Shall work together, 

For good to them who" ever 

"Love God." The fourth day ended 

Ere answer was extended ; 

Then all was plain. 'Tis fitting 

That I should suffer with him 
The wrong our secret marriage brings ! " 
To Glaid she said, "I feel 'tis just 
That I should suifer, as I must. 
But why you, too, this cross must bear, 
May be that greater good you'll share ; 
For love that gives its all on earth, 
Must rise to heights of holier worth 
In worlds above. There, when we meet, 
Its glory will be all complete. 
Our child, a legacy will be 
Of holy trust to you from me ; 
Marion my place to her will fill. 
While I must go, to work God's will. 
"He that o'ercometh," saith the spirit, 
"All things," beloved, "shall inherit." 
"Have I decided rightly, pray. 
Or do you see some other way ?" 

O, loving heart! True to the right! 
Still hard for thee, this bitter trial. 
To yield another up thy light — 

Yet conscience uttered no denial ; 
Tho' human love lay bleeding low. 
Crushed by this blow so cruel ! 
But only thus, the jewel 



132 GLENORIE. 

Of spirit love eternal, 

Could rise to joy supernal — 

Rise Christ-like and all glorious 

O'er earthly love victorious, 
And humbly drink this cup of woe. 

Thus words of heavenly courage — strength, 
He gave her in reply at length. 
Hiding his own heart's wretched ache 
And desolation, for her sake : 
Kissing her bitter tears away, 
With "God, dear sister, leads the way 
O'er rocky paths, that tear our feet. 
His own high purpose to complete 
In us and others ; so 'tis right 
Our wills we yield submissive, quite. 
To Him. The path leads on to light 
Beyond." I dare not try to write 
Of that sad parting ; angel eyes 
Alone could view the sacrifice 
Unmoved — nor they, unless 'twere given 
Them to behold the purer vision 
Of higher good, that "trials grievous" 
Bring souls that bow to God in meekness 
And chastened trust, sublime and holy ; 
And yield their all, as thus Glenorie 
Left her fair babe, her darling Pearl, 
Sister ^jid friend, and with the Earl 
Went forth from that now saddened home. 
Once more to cross the Atlantic's foam. 
Leaving the "nine days talk" behind. 
Which like events are sure to find. 



GLENORIE. 133 



CHAPTER XVI. 



Fair England! 'Mid thy northern hills, 

That rise along thy border western, 
What loveliness the traveler thrills 

With deep delight, beyond all question ! 
What beauteous landscapes spread about — 
Sweet fields for fertile tillage, 
And pasture, lovely village, 
Old castles, still romantic. 
Cool glens, wild, half enchanted ; 
Bold hills, with little patches 
Of green about them — snatches 
Of cot and hall oft gleaming out 
Among the shady, sheltering trees. 
And rising up, high over these. 
Bold mountain peaks — Loughrigg, Langdales, 
Look down into the pleasant vales. 
Where Windermere in beauty sleeps. 
Or winding Rathway softly creeps. 
Or Grasmere lake, or Rydal mere. 
Or Derwentwater, smooth and clear. 
While o'er these scenes the very air 
Breathes Nature's joyance everywhere. 
Not far beyond this region, blest 
With poet lives and poet guest. 
Stood Delton Hall ; on ridge slight rising 
Up from the vale ; from thence comprising 
A pleasant view of distant town, 
Village and lake and all around. 



134 GLENORIE. 

The park and lawn of Delton Hall 
Full many acres broad extended. 
And well-trimmed Hedges ran thro' all, 

Save where an iron fence defended 
The deer. Here rustic seats sat round, 
Beneath the spreading branches 
Of trees, that kept the glances 
Of summer's rays just for those places, 
Where were arranged, in marble vases, 
The loveliest flowers, exotics, creepers, 
And roses breathing richest sweetness ; 
While beauty smiled o'er all the ground. 
Within the mansion, furniture 
Of elegance was everywhere ; 
Mosaics, rosewood, ebony, 
For beauty and utility ; 
Velvet and satin, laces rare. 
Statues of bronze and marble fair. 
And costly pictures graced the wall, 
Where'er one went. The Earl had all 
The Hall refurnished when he came 
Home with Glenorie, thus to gain 
Her mind's attention from the past, 
. And all its painful memories cast 
Around her soul. But many a week 
She grieved and talked, even in her sleep, 
Of her beloved child ; tho' to be cheerful 
Before the Earl she strove ; yet tearful 
Oft times the light within her eyes. 
In spite of all her energies. 



GLENORIE. 135 

Another thing, as time went on, 

Gave to her heart an added sadness — 
The noble qualities in days agone 

She tho't he owned, seemed wanting ; gladness 
And sympathy in all her holiest tho't. 
He did not give her. Tender 
And loving, watchful ever 
To all her outward wants, he never 
Would meet her soul's endeavor 
In highest aspiration, 
To labor for th' upraising 
Of those, the ignorant, improve their lot. 

"Nay, my sweet, puritanic saint, 

Altho' their case you plainly paint, 

Quite piteous, and full of need, 

God will take care of them. Indeed, 

'Tis not oicr work to raise them up, 

For our own happiness enough 

We have to do. This is our right ; 

For this we live. Think not their plight 

Is any worse than thousands ; dear. 

Your shoulders were not made, I fear, 

To take the world upon them ; you 

Were made to care for me ! Be true. 

As I am e'er to you, and let the world 

Work its reforms, all undisturbed 
By us." Thus ever her appeals he answered, 
Till she, so often grieved and disappointed. 

Grew pale and cheerless in the grief 

That cried for soul-work, for relief. 



136 ' GLENORIE. 

He loved her with a passion strong, 

Indeed! He gloried in her loveliness, 
And that to him she did belong, 

Deepened within his soul its selfishness. 
Each thoH of hers he would possess, 
And when he saw the roses paling 
Upon her cheeks ; her strength, too, failing, 
Her eyes so often moist with weeping. 
The jealousy that had been sleeping 
Since their return, again awakened ; 
And with it came a bitter hatred, 
That Creston Glaid's calm nobleness 
Had silenced for a time. But now 
It rose again, and made him vow 
To close the correspondence held between 
His wife and Marion ; or to glean 
Knowledge of all that passed. And thus. 
He made the Countess read at first 
Her letters to him, but found there 
Naught he expected. Of the care 
And welfare of the child, almost 
Entirely Marion therein wrote. 
And spake of Glaid, her b'other — 
"He's well." This did not smother 
The Earl's reproach against him. "He has stolen 
My wife's best love — for this I hold him 
Guilty. But she shall forget 
Him. I've not tried all measures yet. 

The marriage of Lord Percy Greame 
With Lady Maud, is fast approaching ; 



GLENORIE. 137 

She'll miss their ladyships, and plain 

Will grieve the more. At once Til broach it — 
The subject, we likewise shall go 

To London, with my cousin. 

Her mother and her husband. 

To spend the coming season. 

Once there, she'll have more reason 

To drop the past." Th' announcement 

Drew answer from the Countess, 
"If such your wish, let it be so." 

But Lady Maud her pleasure showed, 
And on the Earl swift thanks bestowed, 
For joy she felt. Her warm, young heart 
Quick loved Glenorie. Every art 
She tried, since her return, to soothe 
The homesickness that seemed to move 
Glenorie's soul, she tho't. The Earl 
Forbade his wife to breathe a word 
About her child, or him to whom 
She had been wed. I well presume, 
Could she have told to Maud her grief, 
She would have gained a sweet relief 
In her warm sympathy ; but this forbidden, 
Feeling her secret must be closely hidden. 
It made her seem cold and reserved ; 
And Lady Weldon thus observed 
To Maud, "I cannot, for my life, 
See why the Earl made her his wife." 

The wedding came at Christmas time, 
Amid its joy and "merry making." 
9 



138 GLENORIE. 

The bride was lovely — I opine, 

By all 'twas said — the bridegroom taking 
His share of praise. Then off they sped 
Upon their wedding journey — 
'Twas planned at their returning, 
The Earl and Countess Delton, 
And also Lady Weldon, 
Should settled be in London, 
There to await their coming. 
A pleasant house selected, 
The arrangements were perfected, 
And their arrival heralded 
By elegant reception, graced 
With wit and culture. This prefaced 
The winter evenings, with long list 
Of brilliant entertainments. But I wist 
The Countess, in attending them, to please 
His lordship's wish, did not receive 
Pleasure enough to hush the cry — 
The longing of her soul to spy 
The sweet face of her child. In street. 
Or church, or crowded room, the deep. 
Deep hunger for its presence, e'er 
Within her soul remained. And ne'er 
Could she a child pass, without wishing 
To clasp it in her arms. Oft kissing 
Some that she saw ; for this act gave her. 
With all its pain, a throb of pleasure. 
More deep than all the gaieties 
She found in grand assemblages. 



GLENORIE. 139 

The Earl was pleased with compliments 

His Countess gained, and the attention 
Bestowed on her by men of sense 

And intellect. Here, will I mention. 
At times she met with one Lord Burge, 

Whose noble tho'ts — expression, 

Reminded her of Creston. 

Her sad look then would lighten, 

And rare smiles come to brighten 

Her lovely face. The Earl beholding, 

One eve, this sudden glowing 
Of all her countenance, felt surge 
Into his heart a wave of pain 
Almost o'erwhelming. "She again. 
Can smile for others ; but for me 
Her smile wears sad solemnity 
Of hopes departed!" After this, 
He watched her with a jealousness 
Even greater than before ; and found 
An air more cheerful did surround 
Her, as the time went on. 'Twas true! 
A joyful secret now she knew. 
That thrilled her every nerve with bliss, 
Cheering her grief and loneliness. 
There is no grief so deep and bitter. 
As that unshared ; tho' friends are with us — 
Yea, crowds around — but Nature's tones 
Best sympathize with our heart-moans ; 
For she has balm for sorrow's moods ; 
A spirit tender, with her broods. 



140 GLENORIE. 

That whispers from the Eternal Heart, 
A peace to heal the deepest smart. 

But jealous fears were laid at rest 

Awhile, when to his side one evening 
She came, her secret then confessed, 

And begged an early day for speeding 
Their going back to Delton Hall. 
The Earl delighted, kisses 
Bestowed upon her. "Love, your wishes 
Shall be respected ; quickly 
We will prepare to leave the city. 
The breath of spring caressing 
Your pallid face, a blessing 
I trust Hwill bring, and swiftly call 
Its roses back, once more, to bloom 
In gladness there." And very soon 
They had returned to Delton Hall, 
Which smiled all fair in spring's bright thrall 
Of loveliness. Then there were rides among 
The pleasant hills, where sweet birds sung 
Their joyous carols, as they passed ; 
Receiving Nature's healing, till at last 
The Countess seemed to catch the bloom, 
That all around her home found room 
To glow and brighten ; till the hours 
Bro't forth the summer's glorious flowers. 
The keenness of her grief had slowly 
Departed, and a peace, half holy. 
Had come instead into her soul, 
Which kept her in its calm control. 



GLENORIE. 141 

The Earl had been all tenderness 

Of late. A letter, long expected, 
From Marion came one day, that less 

Of pleasant news contained. Dejected 
She sat awhile — then read agrain. 
The Earl that moment entered 
The room — his gaze quick centered 
Upon her face. Its pain beholding. 
He took the letter, and unfolding 
It, read swiftly o'er its pages — 
And now, what sudden anger blazes 
Quick in his face. "For him the pain, 
Your face reveals. I hope he'll die! 
The villain ! " And with flashing eye 
He added, while he tore the letter 
In shreds, "Altho' she writes he's better, 
May God forbid! I hate him so, 
That 1 could tear his limbs, I know, 
From off his body! Countess, cease 
These letters must. They spoil your peace. 
As well as mine!" O, cruel dart 
These words to her, beneath whose heart 
Another life was beating ! For instead 
Of Creston, as the Earl had read 
By strange mistake, 'twas Pearl, her darling, 
Had been so ill. And now these startlins:. 
Harsh words, that on her hearing fell, 
Made her at once insensible. 

Frightened, the Earl sprang to her side. 
And raising her, sought to restore her ; 



142 GLENORIE. 

Then called her maid, but long they tried, 
Ere consciousness again came o'er her. 
Then for long weeks she scarce could walk. 
The Earl, with heart much troubled, 
His tenderness redoubled, 
Until from out the portal 
Of love divine, immortal, 
A pure, white soul came straying 
Adown time's waters sailing, 
And to the Countess new joy bro't. 
But to the father this sweet gift 
Bro't less of joy — a son he wished, 
And thus, this tiny Lady Clair — 
So frail — she needed best of care — 
Received from him but slight attention ; 
Grateful alone, if truth I mention, 
The mother's life was spared. Take time. 
Fair visitant from sinless clime ! 
Thou'lt win his heart and notice yet, 
When with contrition, deep regret, 
He will thy slightest wish respect. 
For thou thy mission wilt perfect! 
He will await that coming morrow ; 
Thy work is now to banish sorrow 
From out thy mother's heart, and wile 
Her from the past with thy pure smile. 



GLENORIE. 



BOOK FIFTH 



"All that sweet, delicate beauty gone from sight ! 

That gentle, gracious presence felt no more ! 
How must the house be emptied of delight, 

What shadows on the threshold she passed o'er ! 
But sorrow, loss and pain shall purify 

My earthly love, fit it for heavenly birth ; 
Yea, grief must drown me, with its flood breast-high ; 

To make me know how much soul-love is worth." 

Never till this blessed hour, 
When power and passion, lust and pride, are gone, 
Have I perceived what wedded love may be. 
Unutterable fondness, soul for soul — 
Profoundest tenderness between two hearts 
Allied by nature, interlocked by life. 



—7. G. Holland, 



CHAPTER XVH. 

Morn in the east, at God's own word, 
Swings wide the door of her pavilion, 



144 GLENORIE. 

And at the coming of her lord, 

The pearl-white clouds blush rose and crimson. 
Up springs the mist from out the vale, 

Where, in the golden shimmer 

Of his bright sunlight, quiver 

The clear waves, tinted silver. 

Moving o'er lake and river. 

On mountain sides lie shadows 

Of purple clouds ; and echoes 
Of Nature's tuneful notes of praise. 
Resound the woods and hills among ; 
While from the hamlet comes the hum 
Of work-day life. At Delton Hall, 
The veil of beauty hangs o'er all 
Its bright surroundings ; just the same 
As when, seven years agone, there came 
The birth-morn of the Lady Clair — 
The little Lady Eva. Fair 
And saintly seems her childish face, 
Which, as the morn wears on apace, 
Lies back against her silken chair, 
Regarding with an anxious air 
Her mother, writing close beside her, 
In richly furnished, pleasant library ; 
Whose massive cases held refined 
Bread for the knowledge-seeking mind. 

A large, full head had Lady Clair — 
A forehead that you'd long remember 

Graced the sweet face, exceeding fair, 
Lit by her large, blue eyes, so tender 



GLENORIE. 145 

And wistful in expression ; but 

Her little, shrunken Ihnbs could scarcely, 
Even with her costly crutches, carry 
Her frail, light form about. Yet pleasant 
Her voice and words ; for O, most patient 
Was she at all times ; and her father, 
A love most beautiful did harbor 
For her. It filled aflfection's cup 

Clear to the brim ; remorsefulness 

Had from it drawn all selfishness. 

Physicians best he had obtained 

To treat her, but her limbs remained 

Ever the same. Full many an hour 

He spent beside her — all his power 

Taxed to amuse her ; meanwhile, she 

Returned his love with usury ; 

For he to her was ever kind ; 

But to his wife, alas, I find, 

I must confess the Earl had grown 

Almost a savage. Be it known — 
Asking no help from God, but only 
In his own strength relying, he Glenorie 

Had never yet forgiven, quite. 

For marrying another. Right 

He could not feel, for well he knew 

He did not make her happy. True, 

He tried ; but, as I said before, 

He asked no aid of Him who could restore 

His trust in her ; and thus the smart 

Grew deeper, rankling in his heart . 



146 GLENORIE. 

Thus as he loved the child the more, 

His love grew less for her, Glenorie, 
Or, greatly changed — no more it bore 

The fruits of love "divine and holy." 
She knew it, but dared not contrast 
It with the pure affection 
She had received from Creston ; 
For almost weekly, Delton 
Made cause to taunt, or question, 
Her faithfulness in feeling 
To him. Or else, when seeing 
Her love for Eva, he would task 

Her with "forgetting her first-born," 
In tones of irony and scorn. 
O, these were bitter days! But trust 
In God upheld her ; else she must 
Have sunk beneath her cross ; for still 
His old persuasive power at will 
He'd use to lure her to his wish — 
Be full of love and tenderness ; 
Then with harsh words, like serpent, dart 
His jealous fangs into her heart. 
Not strange his wish for son and heir, 
Unanswered ; but the blame on her 
He laid, and grew yet more exacting, 
As one by one the buds of offspring, 
Crushed by his jealousy or wrath. 
Or cruel passion, sank in death ; 
The poor, pale mother leaving 
In deeper grief; yet still beseeching, 



GLENORIE. 147 

With earnest prayers, that God would change 
Her husband's love for her, so strange. 
The Earl had ceased to pray ; his faith 
In God was darkened, and its breath. 
If yet it lived, he never felt — 
With Eva all his gladness dwelt. 

Among his gifts this birth-day morn, 
One was a book with lids of velvet, 
And sparkling brilliants shone upon 
The clasp. Long had she held it. 
Viewing its contents ; but at last 

She laid it on the brightly woven 
Spread, (which appeared to be of golden 
Thread wrought) that lay upon the table ; 
Beside a silver vase, rich laden 
With fragi-ance breathing flowers ; and leaning 
Back in her chair awhile — half dreaming — 
Till on her mother's face she cast 

A glance ; then came that anxious look, 
The pleasant interest of the book 
Dispelling from her mind. "O, why. 
Dear mamma, do you pause and sigh, 
And look so sad, this happy morn .'* 
Have I done anything that's wrong.?" 
"Nay, my sweet child," the Countess said, 
While a warm kiss she quickly laid 
Upon the upturned brow — "To me. 
Thou art God's blessing. Without thee 
Life would be dark, indeed ! " And nearer 
She drew the little form unto her — 



148 GLENORIE. 

Began to talk of something pleasant 
Within the book, till came a servant. 
"Your ladyships my lord doth wait, 
The Lady Clair a drive must take." 

The evening bro't a little "fete," 

In honor of the Lady Eva's 
Birth-day. At morn, quite late. 

Her mother found her flushed with fever's 
Bright glow ; and ere the night appeared, 
She had become delirious. 
The cruel hand, imperious. 
Of death's most faithful gleaner — 
The fatal Scarlatina — 
Had grasped her ; and in sorrow 
Her parents watched till morrow 
Again had dawned ; but all uncheered 

Their hopes. The third day's saddened close 

Bro't to the sufferer that repose 

Which earth-light could not waken. O, 

How bitter was this cup of woe — 

Death's ashes on her sunny hair — 

For death had claimed the Lady Clair ! 

The Earl was comfortless ! and lo. 

The Countess sank beneath the blow ; 

And then another hope was crossed — 

Another little life was lost, 

By birth untimely. And the pale 

Weak mother — O, so very frail 

Her hold on life ! Her danger woke 

The Earl, at length, and partly broke 



GLENORIE. 149 

The crust of self about his heart ; 

And his old tenderness in part 

For her returned. "Must she, too, go?" 

Altho' she breathed, she did not know 

Aught that was passing. So the days 

Went by. The Lady Clair's remains 
Within the family vault were resting 
Unknown to her. A week passed, yet possessing 

No power, it seemed, to bring again 

Strength to the Countess' weakened frame. 

The Earl grew anxious ; for his heart. 

The loss of Eva deeply grieving. 
Began to realize, in part, ** 

The sacrifice she'd made in leaving 
Her first-born for his sake. And grief 

Within his soul, admission 

Made for a deep contrition, 

That his proud spirit humbled 

As ne'er before. Unnumbered 

Prayers now he breathed to Heaven, 

His wife might yet be given 
Back to his love once more ! Belief 
His prayers were heard, began to dawn 
At length, as time moved slowly on ; 
Improvement in her strength appeared. 
But, ah ! The kind physician feared 
Her mind was darkened. She did take 
No notice of attendants, when awake ; 
She knew them not, nor yet the Earl ; 
But often asked for little Pearl, 



150 GLENORIE. 

And wept because they broH her not. 
And then again her every tho't 
Turned back ; thro' all her childhood days 
She seemed to roam ; and called the names 

Her playmates bore : Oft talking with her mother, 

And Linda Ware, and every other 
Friend she had known almost, in days 
When joy lent to her heart its rays. 

One day the Earl sat by her side, 

When she awoke from sleep, more quiet 
Than usual. Looking up, she tried 

To smile. He, made more hopeful by it, 
Stooped down and kissed her brow, and while 

Her hand gave faintest pressure 

To his, she said in whisper, 

**0, my true brother Creston, 

With joy I give you welcome ! 

YouVe come to make my husband 

See that alone I love you 
As sister. Such love has no guile — 
But, O, my brother, you know not 
What bitter grief has been my lot, 
Since last I saw you ! If the love 
The Earl has for me I could move 
To love as pure as yours, I still 
Could wish to live, till I fulfilll 
God's purpose here!" "And is it not so?" 
Questioned the Earl. "Nay, brother, no! 
His love is warped by that which e'er 
Profanes love's altar ! And I ne'er 



GLENORIE. 151 

Can change it, tho' so long I've tried ; 
My hopes and prayers are still denied. 
But now yoii've come, he'll list to you! 
O, God, ?nake him believe the true!" 
She closed her eyes and clasped her hands. 
These words the Earl then understands : 

**0, teach him life's true joy — love's purity. 

Devoid of passion's darkening ministry ! 
Then could I be his happy wife, 
My children, too, have strength for life!" 

She ceased, and when she spake again, 

The thread of tho't was changed ; she wandered 
In flowery vales, it seemed. With pain 

The Earl upon her words long pondered; 
Until the kind physician came. 
The sight of him recalled her 
From vagaries that had 'thralled her. 
She cried "Pray have you bro't her, 
Kind sir, my little daughter. 
My Pearl ? Long have I sought her 
Along the vale to Derwentwater ; 
But find her not ; and O, the pain 
Within my heart I scarce can bear ; 
Please tell me have you seen her ? Where ?" 
'*My lady, I've not seen her; but 
You still must keep your courage up ; 
I'll find her yet, and bring her soon. 
To bless your heart, and light your room." 
He tho't 'twas Eva that she meant. 
And thro' his heart the tho't was sent, 



152 GLENORIE. 

"Some child who does resemble her, 
We might obtain, to minister 
Her half-turned mind unto, perhaps 
'Twould help to bring her reason back." 
So to the Earl, ere he departed, 
He spake this plan, and farther added, 
"Unless some charm we soon obtain, 
I fear her mind will e'er remain 
Clouded, if she her health regain. 
Which now seems doubtfbl, it is plain." 

Quickly to this the Earl replied, 

"'Tho' 'twill take many days to get her, 
I think I know of just the child ; 

And I at once will write a letter 
To have her bro't." Then, ere that night, 
A line upon its way was speeding. 
To Creston Glaid, beseeching 
Himself to come, with Marion 
And little Pearl. Declaring 
The Countess sad condition. 
And verdict of physician. 
This done, his heart was far more light 
Than it had been since Eva's death. 
And then the days went on — till breath 
Of autumn over summer's bloom 
Threw shadows of its coming doom. 
Often came Lady Weldon, Lady Maud, 
To see the Countess ; the young lord 
Of Greame, a happy, rouguish child, 
One day came with them ; and he wiled 



GLENORIE. 153 

The Countess with his chatter, quite 

Back to the present ; for that night 

She called the Earl, and questioned more 

Of Eva's death than she before 
Had said about her. Very fearfully 
He answered all she asked ; then tearfully, 

With long drawn sigh, at length she said, 

"Yes, I remember, Eva's dead, 

And I am childless !" But the Earl, 

"Nay, dear Glenorie, little Pearl 

Is coming soon to see you ; I 

Have sent for her ! " But with a cry 

Of pain, "No, my sweet Pearl is dead!" — 

Her lucid moment now had fled. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

One day there came a favored change 

To Countess Delton — ^joy's surprisal — 
Dear Marion Gifford, Creston Glaid, 
And little Pearl, made their arrival 
At Delton Hall ; and there received 
■ From him, the lord of Delton, 
A very cordial welcome. 
And when refreshed and rested — 
Facts learned, as they requested — 
It was decided Mrs. Gifford 
First to the Countess be admitted. 
She, pausing at the door, believed 

The Earl best tell her "friends had come 

To see her from her far-off home." 

10 



154 GLENORIE. 

"My far-off home?" — with puzzled air — 
"Yes, you remember, don't you, where 
You dwelt at Inglewood, so blest? 
You'd like to see the friends you left? 
Your sister, Mrs. Gifford, dear. 
Has come to see you." "Has come here!" 
She cried in joyful tone, and tried 
To raise herself. Then saw beside 
Her couch the dear, familiar face. 
But little changed. A long embrace. 
And tender kiss, and joyful tears. 
Awoke the memory of years, 
That lay between their hour of parting 
And this ; for suddenly, the Countess starting. 
Looked round, and said, "My baby girl — 
What have you done with little Pearl ?" 

"She's well! And you shall see her, soon 
As you shall rest a little, dear Glenorie ; 
She's changed so much, I well presume, 

To see her now you would not know her. 
But I will tell you, while you rest. 
So much about her, presently 
The change will strike you pleasantly." 
Then in those tones, so gently soothing, 
While her light hand was softly smoothing 
The dark hair, and the pillow 'neath her 
Tired head, she spake of things to please her. 
Concerning Pearl. And when she best 
Had calmed her trembling, to her sight 
They bro't her child. O, dear delight! 



GLENORlE. 155 

What heavenly joy and ecstacy ! 

"O, can it be reahty!'' 

That I behold her — feel her kiss, 

Hear the sweet voice, and know that this 

Is my own child?" Not mine 

The power to speak of such divine 

Emotions ; and my readers may 

Recall the happiest hour or day 
They ever knew of earthly sweetness ; 
'Twill not exceed the rich completeness 

Of joy that filled Glenorie's heart — 
'Twas bliss that seemed of Heaven a part. 

"Joy seldom kills" — these words proved true — 

Next day the Countess was far stronger 
In mind and body. When she knew 

The Earl sent for her friends, no longer 
Did she turn from him, but his face 
She drew to hers, and kissed him 
As ne'er before ; then whispered — 
"Dear Everard, O, I thank you 
For this great joy ; God grant you 
A blessing for your kindness. 
More pure, than in my blindness, 
I e'er could ask!" Thrilled with th' embrace, 
The happy Earl forgiveness begged 
For all the sorrow he had made 
Her suffer; then — "When you are well, 
Dearest, if you prefer to dwell 
With Pearl, you shall go home with them — 
ril live without you, till again 



156 GLENORIE. 

You choose to come. Perhaps Til prove 
Myself more worthy of your love. 
Did Marion tell you, Mr. Glaid 
Came with them ?" Then a glad smile played 
Upon her face, as she made answer, 
"O, did he? Then, again I thank you; 
I am rejoiced, both for your sake 
As well as mine. He comes to make 
Us both much happier. He will teach you 
Truths that will make your love far sweeter 
Than e'er before, if you, my lord, 
Will give attention to his word." 

And now, again I must implore 

The pardon of my patient readers. 
In asking them to use, once more 

Their fancy, or perhaps experience. 
While I attempt to say how Glaid 
Met her he loved so dearly, 
So purely and sincerely. 
Deep in his heart was hidden 
That tenderness — unbidden 
It might not rise. Warm pressure 
He gave her hand, while pleasure 
Beamed from her face so pallid ; 
With brother's kiss her forehead 
He lightly touched ; then gently laid 
His hand a second on her head, 
And to her questions answers said, 
As calmly, as if she to him 
More than a friend had never been. 



GLENORIE. 157 

The Earl beheld this meeting, pained 

Far less than he had feared ; but changed 

Somewhat was he ; for Eva's death, 

And these long weeks of dread suspense 

About Glenorie's life and mind, 

Had wrought their work on him, inclined 

I am to think. And he, too, felt 

The gracious charm that ever dwelt 
With Creston Glaid. His was a spirit 
That did Christ's tenderness inherit 

For all mankind ; thus, all who came 

In contact with him felt the same 

Attraction, potent as "twas sweet, 

Like those who sat at Jesus' feet. 

Sorrow had woven silver strands 

In his dark hair, and o'er his forehead 
Her pencil its deep lines had spanned ; 

While from his hazel eyes she'd borrowed 
Much of their joyous light, that shone 
When first he knew Glenorie. 
But in his soul, her holy 
Attendance had but deepened 
Its nobleness, and sweetened 
Its fount of love and sympathy : 
So in its temple ministry, 
God's angels held. Rebellious moan. 
Or murmur, ne'er his spirit breathed 
Above the cup he had received 
From sorrow's hand. With patient trust 
He drank it all, and God, the Just 



158 GLENORIE. 

And Merciful, rich overflow 
Of love did to this soul bestow ; 
Which he, receiving, gave to all 
Within his reach. Beneath the thrall 
Of this great tenderness the Earl 
Was drawn in daily concord. Pearl 
And Marion to the Countess bro't 
Such sweet and blessed joy, it wrought 
Wonders within her languid frame. 
And strength each day she did regain. 
The good physician, tho' amazed at seeing 
A child so little like the Lady Eva, 
Rejoiced to see the good effect 
Her presence surely did perfect. 

And now the days went speeding on. 

Till late October winds were blowing 
Their minor chords, within the song 

The year sang out of its grand poem. 
Long conversations had my lord 

With Glaid, as oft they sat together, 
Or rode or walked, all kinds of weather ; 
Full many topics they discoursed of — 
All public good their lands could boast of- 
Reforms, both social, parliamental. 
Likewise, religious and political ; 
Of wars and science, scenes abroad, 
And last, upon the grievous sin 
That fills the world with suffering ; 
The crime and lust, and woe and death, 
That tho'tless parents do bequeath 



GLENORIE. 159 

Their children, even before their birth, 

By laws unchanging all o'er earth ; 

Entailing on them appetites 

And passions, cursing all their lives ; 

Weakening each generation by the sin 

Of that foregoing. So it's been. 

And will be, till mankind awake 

From wrong and ignorance, and take 
Heed to the Great Exampler God has sent them, 
To cleanse themselves — their souls to strengthen — 

He, who "was tempted like as we," 

But from all sin kept pure and free. 

O, when earth's dwellers heed the voice, 

"Be perfect ye, even as your Father 
In Heaven is," they will rejoice 

To turn from sin — lead pure lives rather, 
Like Him, the Heavenly Teacher, kind. 
Who came with royal duty, 
And lived this life of beauty ; 
Died for its truth, that we th' Kingdom 
Of God might have, to dwell within us ; 
By living like Him, thus inherit 
Peace, joy and love — fruits of His Spirit. 
When thus all souls that now are blind, 
Become pure temples, where is shrined 
The living Christ in heart and mind, 
Then children will begotten be 
In mutual love and purity ; 
Then sin and wrong, and lust and crime. 
Will vanish from the shores of time ; 



l6o GLENORIE. 

And joy and peace's glad reign begun — 
God's will o'er all ths eirth b^ don^. 
God speed the work ! God speed the day ! 
All turn to Him, "the Truth, the Way," 
As turned the Earl, as ne'er before 
He turned the Christ-life to adore. 
His heart enkindled with new fervor. 
Resolved henceforth, with true endeavor. 
To live this purer, higher life. 
With or without his now loved wife. 

For tho' he loved her much the more, 
The more he saw Glaid's nobleness, 
And felt how deep and very sore 

Had been her grief at his unworthiness ; 
He was determined she should be 

Free as the air, when she recovered. 

And when it was discovered, 

Or tho't by her physician, 

A clime more beneficial 

Would do her good, he hastens 

At once all preparations 
To spend the winter near the sea ; 
And to Genoa's city fair. 
When she had strength, they did repair, 
By journeyings short each day ; and thus, 
A few days resting, she no worse 
Appeared to be. A pleasant suite 
Of rooms they took; and then, in truth. 
All things looked fair and prospermg, 
For health and joy to dwell within 



GLENORIE. l6l 

This friendly group. But Glaid, one morn. 

Sailed for his distant home alone. 

He dared not longer stay and see 

The face he loved so tenderly ; 

So, leaving Pearl, and Marion, too, — 

(The Countess clung to them, and who 

Could think to part her now from Pearl ? 

It was not Glaid, nor yet the Earl !) — 

He went away with this decision : 

In spring, the Earl and Countess with them 

Would come to visit her old home 

At Edgewood, and would also come 

To Inglewood. He knew she might 

Not live to see the spring's sweet light ; 
But hoping much from Marion's nursing. 
And Pearl's bright presence also, trusting 

For farther good, with tearful eye 

And prayerful heart he said good-bye ; 

Knowing if this earth's last should be, 

That Heaven held love's eternity. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

O, woods of summer, ye are sweet 

With gum and herb and blossoms fragrant, 
When cooling breezes do compete 

To keep thy bowers from heat most flagrant ; 
But autumn woods more glorious are, 
When bronze are elm and ashes. 
And golden all the branches 
Of beech, birch, oak and hazels ; 



1 62 GLENORIE. 

While scarlet globes, the maples 
To crimson turn still deeper 
Each day. In statue meeker, 
Below them shine the sumac, 
Burning their fires. I knew that 
The evergreens alone would dare 

To wear their summer fashions, where 
The other trees so eager are 
To catch the tinting brown and gold, 
From autumn's wondrous artist old. 
I cannot blame them, as I gaze 
On all this glory of soft rays. 
Painting: with richer hues the leaves. 
And pleasant are such sounds as these, 
The dropping nuts, the partridge's drum, 
And saucy wind's harmonious hum, 
'Mid crispy boughs, as I look down 
From wooded hill on Edgewood town ; 
That shines, like beauteous gem of sardonyx, 
In soft bronze setting of the hillsides, which 
Surround it. It was here, I know. 
Our story opened long ago. 

And here I hoped to find once more 

Our friend Glenorie, Countess Delton ; 
But when I sought her, just before 

My woodland walk that I have dwelt on, 
I learned she came, when summer wore 
Her emerald crown upon her forehead. 
And made her visit ; then went onward, 
To feast her soul upon the glory 



GLENORIE. 163 

And grandeur of the mountains, hoary 
With age ; whose loveliness, majestic. 
Greets the beholder in the prospect 
From summit or half-way. Before 

The eye fair valley sweeps extend, 

Whose varying lights new beauty lend 

In hill, wood, river, cot and town ; 

While from the mountain sides rush down 

Glad rivulets, whose waters bright 

Flash here and there, then hidden quite. 

Where solemn rock, or clumps of trees. 

Hide chasms of deep mysteries ; 

When morning, from her orient throne, 

Her golden treasures doth make known. 

Or evening radiance from afar. 

Lights with her shafts each silver star 
That tracks the moon, in grandeur soaring — 
From mountain top to base, there pouring 

Her mystic light ; then, soft the breeze 

Moves, whispering o'er these wondrous scenes, 

"Ah! who shall enter, who shall stand 

On God's high mountain? He, whose hand 

Is clean from sin, whose heart is pure 

From vanity," which doth allure 

The soul from God! Then can he hold 

Communion high with Him who rolled 

The mountains to their place ; unique 

In beauty, both sublime and sweet. 

But 'mid these wild, enchanting scenes. 
We find not her we seek. To Inglewood 



164 GLENORIE. 

We'll haste. Fair Inglewood, which seems 

To scarcely note time's servitude. 
The river still the same course takes — 
Now tho'tful in deep shadows, 
Then joyful, where its shallows 
Invite to playful moods ; as Ruskin 
Of river-life hath told, I trust in. 
As charming, beautiful description 
As pen or words have ever given. 
The trees are taller, and each makes 
A larger shadow on the lawn, 
Than when, in grief, nine years agone, 
Glenorie took her farewell gaze 
Of all about this lovely place. 
And here we find her. Not the same 
Grief-stricken woman, nor, again, 
Is she the invalid we last beheld ! 
Nor yet, again, is she quite well, 
For slight exposure brings a cough, 
And hectic flush quite plain enough 
Sometimes is feeding on her cheek ; 
And then at times she is so weak, 
When she but makes some extra trial 
Of strength ! But evident denial 

Her sweet, calm face gives to the tho't 
That sorrow now disturbs her lot. 

To-day, she sits with happy eyes 

Fixed on her darling's face, which beameth 
With all of childhood's witcheries — 

Her father's softened image seemeth 



GLENORIE. 165 

That face, all save the eyes ; and those 
Were like Glenorie's, dark and tender, 
Yet radiant in their starry splendor, 
When lifted were the long, dark lashes. 
And mirth gave to their depths her flashes ; 
Or when affection's light was kindled. 
You'd think two diamonds sparkled in them. 
Fair brows arched o'er them, and the rose 

Of perfect health bloomed on her cheek. 

Its fragrance touched her lips, where sweet 

Smiles lingered, as her mother's hand 

Caressed her forehead — moved the band 

That held her sunny curls in place. 

Back from her young and lovely face. 

They had been talking of the change 

Death brings to us — a topic strange, 

Perhaps you'll think, for one so young ; 

But Pearl had tho'ts that well become 

An older child. Sometimes she talked 

The wisdom that within her wrought 
Conclusions fine. Most beautiful to her. 
Death ever seemed — a welcome messenger — 

To call one to the dear Lord Christ, 

This tho't with joy her soul sufficed. 

For her young spirit had been taught 

To turn with tender love and reverence 
To God and Jesus ; and she bro't 

In her sweet life the evidence 
Of her communion with them, thus : 
"Dear mother, if as radiantly 



1 66 GLENORIE. 

Death clothes our souls, from this life free. 
As butterflies emerging from 
The cocoon of th^ ugly worm, 
How beautiful — how glorious 
The life with Christ, before us ! 
There you can always live with us, 
And never have to go away. 
As now, when uncle comes, you say 
You must!'' But here, aunt Marion breaks 
Their converse ; coming in, she makes 
New joy, for in her hand she holds 
An open letter, which unfolds 
Glad news from Creston Glaid ; for long 
With Earl of Delton he's been gone. 
Visiting places to fame known. 
Where'er the Earl has cared to roam. 
In many cities, pausing oft. 
To scatter golden seeds of tho't, 
In lectures that may wake to life 
The better part of souls that strive 
With sin and passion. Then they passed 
O'er broad prairies, wild as vast, 
Thro' valleys many, mountain gaps, 
Thro' many dangers and mishaps, 
Till they had reached Pacific's tide, 
Rolling fair Oregon beside. 
Then California's golden shore 
They'd sought — its valleys traveled o'er. 
From thence had come the letters, welcome 
To Pearl and Marion — one from Delton, 



GLENORIE. 167 

Glenorie had ; each writing, soon 
They should begin their journey home. 

When night, with cloudy curtains drawn 

Back from her starry eyes and forehead, 
Looked smiling down upon the lawn, 

Till the young moon, with light late borrowed. 
Pushed up her silver horn above 
The distant hills' lone solitude, 
And brightly shone o'er Inglewood, 
A calm watch gently keeping ; 
We, while the inmates, sleeping, 
Dream of the absent wanderers. 
Or scale the mystic boundaries 
Of dream-land's Eden ; we will rove 
Full many leagues on moon-lit beams, 
O'er hill and dale and gliding streams, 
O'er rocky mount, and cot and town, 
O'er southern cities, where the crown 
Of autumn's glory is not worn. 
Afar, afar, we still will roam. 
Till we the travelers now have found, 
In dingy town, within the bound 
Of Texas regions. Here, two nights 
They've spent, but not for "seeing sights." 
The servant of the Earl this noon 
Died with the yellow fever. Soon 
The Earl himself was taken with it ; 
And when physician made him visit, 
He heard the name of the disease, 
And with that knowledge went his peace. 



l68 GLENORIE. 

For all his eflforts could not make 

Glaid leave him ; tho' with prayers beseeching 
His going, for Glenorie's sake! 

"If you remain till I am sleeping 
In death, you, too, will take it — die — 
And then, all unprotected. 
She will be left, dejected 
With grief and anguish double. 
You know, my more than brother, 
I speak the truth, most surely ; 
And if you live, then truly 
She will be yours again, as I 

Ought to have let her still remain. 
When I the knowledge did obtain. 
Her love for me had passed away. 
But IVe been punished, ere this day, 
For all my selfishness then wrought ; 
And oft this summer I have tho't 
Death ought to call me, so that you. 
By far the worthier of the two, 
Might fill her life with joy once more — 
So fly, dear brother, I implore !" 
"My lord, I cannot leave you." "Nay, 
Think of your darling child, I pray. 
And your dear sister — then Glenorie — 
I see her tender eyes before me, 
Beseeching me to send you home. 
For her sake I can die alone — 
But tell her that my latest breath 
Will be her name, for even death — 



GLENORIE. 169 

The love that words can never tell 
Will make yet stronger — now farewell !" 

"Nay, urge no more. It may not be! 

Should I forsake a present duty, 

And fly to one, apparently 

From danger free, 1 should most truly 

Deserve like death ! My place is here ; 

And with our Heavenly Father 

We'll leave our dear ones, rather ; 

I cannot prove, a traitor 

To precepts of our Saviour ! 

Besides, you may recover ; 

Some charm I may discover 

To conquer this disease. I fear 

No danger to myself, for I 

Will leave my life with God on high. 

Now take this potion, and let hope 

Rouse up your courage, till it ope 

The door of valiant will, to fight 

This fever hence. Bv morning's Vischt 

YouMl talk, no doubt, of our return 

To those for whom our hearts both yearn !'" 

Thus cheered, the Earl at last complied. 

And took the dose ; then faintly smiled, 

And tried to be more hopeful. Glaid, 

Like tenderest mother giving aid. 

And watchful care, to her sick children. 

Thus soothed and watched the Earl ; fulfilling 

The law of Christ, thro" that long night — 

(All from the house had fled thro' fright) — 
II 



I/O GLENORIE. 

And when the tempter whispered *-liyI 
Why seek to save him ? Let him die I 
For then she will be yours indeed I" 
He put the words aside with sp>eed. 
And worked more faithful than before. 
Till the bright morning shone once more. 

And when physician came, and said. 

"Your nursing, sir, has saved your brother- 
1 surely tho't to find him dead 

This mom — but now he will recover — "' 
A voice quick whispered to his soul, 
•*He that o'ercometh, shall inherit 
.All things," and deeply to his spirit 
"The peace that passeth understanding'* 
Was given : and also, notwithstanding 
His ^'igil, he escaj>ed the fever. 
Thus proving words of Psalmist teacher, 
"According as we hop>e, behold 
His mercy is !"" But here exclaim 
Some of my readers, "'It is plain 
This author knows not how to write 
A ston." : for indeed, "tis quite 
Time for this Earl to die, and leave 
His wife to Glaid I" And I believe. 
Kind reader, I appreciate 
Your feelings ; but a moment wait. 
While I observe when writers draw 
Their characters from life, the law 
Of facts may not be set aside : 
Therefore, the truth I must abide. 



GLENORIE. 171 

But deem not they alone are blest. 

Who share the sweets of love possessed 
In mutual joy : a bliss still higher 
Is given souls cleansed by the lire 
Of earthly loss and disappointment : 
Whose wtUs are chastened to pure onement 

With God's : recei\lng Christly love — 

The heavenly recompense — above 

All human love, more broad and sweet — 

The God in man, that shall complete 

At last our souls in perfectness 

Of Heaven's divinest blessedness. 

CHAPTER XX. 

It is the bride month of the year. 

And all abloom the snow\- hedges 
Of ha^vthom stand : while far and near. 

And on, beyond those rocky ledges. 
The vvoodlawn and the meadows gleam 

With golden buttercups and blossoms : 
And pink and pearly are the orchards. 
Where stock doves coo. and happv linnet 
Jerks out the twittering music in it. 
And upward far the lark is soaring. 
His liquid notes of joy out-pouring 
►Upon the fragrant air. By stream 

And sunny glade the dew-drops gleam : 
And in the forest paths serene. 
Where yeoman, clad in "lincoln green." 
Once chased, from covert of the fern. 



172 GLENOKIE. 

The anxious hind and timid fawn ; 
Or way-laid travelers, led astray 
By cunning, from the king's highway. 
In England's long-gone*, war-like days. 
Thus brightly beameth Nature's face. 
As we pass on to seek the town 
Or village, cosily set down 
Beside the lake, near Delton Hall. 
Here, on the Rector we will call, 
And learn what changes have been noted. 
In years that time has gently floated 

To death, since home Earl Delton came. 
From Inglewood, across the main. 

The Countess, too, returned, altho' 

The choice he left with her, permitting 
Her to remain with Pearl, if so 

She would be happier. Thus admitting 
He recognized the law, at last. 
Love's perfect law of freedom 
Should dwell in trust between them. 
Unselfishness thus nearer 
Drew her to him, and clearer 
Her duty shone — her answer 
Rewarded him, I grant you. 
But list the Rector's words, when asked 
About the Earl. "How has he spent 
The last ten years ? Is he content 
To seek, as once, his happiness 
Alone ? Or does he know th' blessedness 
Of brightening other lives, where'er 



GLENORIE. I "71 

His wealth or labor may confer 

The joy?" "He and his noble lady, sirs, 

Have proved themselves God's almoners, 

Among the lowly and the poor, 

For miles around ; and O, be sure, 

They've sought to aid me in Christ's work 

Of cleansing souls from sin — draw up 

Their lives to purer paths. Beloved 

By all their tenantry — approved 

They are by all true hearts. I know 

My lord was different years ago, 
And then my lady's face — God bless her — 
Showed plainly something did distress her : 

But now it wears the smile of peace — 

Heaven grant her joys may still increase !'' 

Here ends the Rector, and amen 

We echo to his benediction ; 
Then we pass on, thro' town and glen. 

O'er lovely hills, bright with prediction 
Of summer's glory drawing near — 

And roam awhile by charming copses, 
Where bloom the rich acacia roses, 
And fragrant ferns ; beneath the holly. 
The thorn and birch, and melancholy 
Toned pine we stray, and not long after, 
We sail the calm lake's silver water. 
But ere we leave this region dear. 
We'll take a look within the Hall, 
And seek a room where from the wall 
A pictured face doth greet us there — 



174 GLENORIE. 

The Lady Eva"s. pure and fair : 
Its wistful eyes, so like her own — 
In which a prayer forever shone — 
Bent on her parents seated there. 
Seem asking still their joys to share. 
And we behold, at our first glance. 
A healthful, happy countenance, 
The passing years, together with 
The purer love which now doth live 
Within her husband's heart, have bro"t 
The Countess, and the joy, long sought. 
And, too, a nobler, gentler mien 
The Earl has gained. No more is seen 
The stern, imperious, haughty gaze, 
That chilled her soul in former days. 
His life, set to the pattern of his Lord, 
Now moves with hers in sweet accord. 

Within his hand an open volume. 

Late published, bears on title column 
The name of Creston Glaid. He reads, 
And we will list, as he proceeds : 

"True religion is true manhood" 
Lifting up its holiest powers 
Towards the Christ-life and perfection. 
Putting off the earthly nature — 
Low desires and sinful passions, 
Groveling aims and selfish wishes, 
Appetites accursed, debasing. 
Hate against one's fellow creature; 
Turning from all these forever, 
To put on the heavenly nature, 
And "work out our own salvation". 



GLENORIE. 175 

Christ may not do all this for us. 

The' he died of deaths a thousand — 

Tho" his blood were flowing ever ; 

He can never, never save us, 

Till we turn with true repentance 

From our sins, and hence forever 

Leave them. He hath nobly shown us 

How to cleanse ourselves, and waiting 

Is He e'er to aid and help us ; 

H.e, "the Truth, the Way, the Saviour," 

By his holy life doth teach us, 

How to bring the Heavenly Kingdom 

Down to dwell forever in us ; 

So that righteouness and gladness. 

Love and joy, witliin our spirits 

May be flowing out in blessing 

For ourselves and all God's children. 

Christ waits ever, thus to help us ; 

And He will work on forever. 

Till all souls are cleansed from sinning ; 

For in working out God's purpose 

"He will draw all men unto Him" — 

All into the heavenly pasture — 

Heavenly fold of love and rapture — 

Home of purity divinest ; 

Where the "mansions of our Father" 

Are prepared for all His children. 

In the immortal home-land, Heaven. 

But pausing here, Glenorie said. 

"The doors of love and truth and wisdom, 
He swings wide open, thus to spread 

The pj-iceless worth of pure religion 
Before the eyes of all who gaze." 
To which the Earl responding, 



176 GLENORIE. 

"Yes, bidding souls in bondage 
To error's creeds, break from them, 
And as new light flows on them. 
Turn loving, in obedience. 
Give God and Christ allegiance.'" 
But here an interruption stays 

Their converse. Young Lord Everard Clair, 

A sprightly child, both bright aad fair, 

Of summers six, comes bounding in. 

And seeks his fa therms side ; while Prim, 

A servant, follows, leading slow 

The little Lady Thalia. Lo ! 

Her years have scarcely numbered three. 

But pet and household pearl is she ! 

Quick to her mother's arms she springs, 

Lisping her winsome chatterings, 

Between the Countess' warm caressings. 

Ah! parents, priceless are your blessings! 

With myriad ways for doing good. 

You have this gladsome certitude. 

Your children, reverently conceived. 

With mutual joy and love, received 

From (jod's all gracious hand, are sweet 

In disposition, and replete 

With pure affection ! Happy task 

Is yours, which prayerfully you ask! 

To bring them up to noble man 

And womanhood! None worthier can 

Perform the sweet and high employ. 

And thus we leave you to your joy 



GLENORIE. 177 

Content. ''Tis true Glenorie's heart 

For her first-born will often start, 

And sigh. But these deep cords of love 

For absent ones, yet stronger prove 
God's own unchanging, deep affection, 
Which to a full and grand perfection, 

Shall draw all souls at last, to be 

United in one family. 

And now one visit more we'll make 

In the swift car of tho't, returning 
O'er rolling waves, till brightly break 

Columbia's shores, and here our journeying 
Soon ends, 'mid old familiar scenes. 

But ah ! how changed is Ingle wood I 

For when the wing of war did brood 

Above our land so beautiful. 

Then hands, no longer dutiful 

To honor, sadly desecrated 

The lovely grounds that decorated 
This country seat. But time has means 
To heal all wounds ; and stranger eyes 
Would deem it still a Paradise, 
Almost. Two hearts this very hour, 
When sunset lends her rosy dower 
Of tender rays, to gild the face 
Of Nature, robed w4th spring's rich gi^ace- 
Believe that their'' s is Eden's joy ; 
For busy cupid — saucy boy — 
Has used his arts with grand success, 
And joined their hearts in blessedness ; 



1/8 GLENORIE. 

Here, seated 'neath the lovely trees, 
A few low words have showed to each 

The joyful truth. This fair, sweet maiden, 

With gifts and graces richly laden. 
We find none other than our Pearl, 
Whom last we saw a winsome girl. 
And he beside her, one who owns 
The wealth, not bought by golden thrones. 
The wealth of virtues in a soul 
O'er which no vice may gain control. 

Back to the house they go at last. 
He to the study then repairing. 
To ask Glaid's sanction ; while she passed 
Into aunt Marion's room, there sharing 
Her joy with that true, loving heart. 

Dear Marion, tho' she well can number 
Her fifty years this very summer. 
And tho' her hair is white with silver, 
Still keeps her youthful feelings with her! 
And so. Pearl's glowing face caressing, 
With tender words she grants her blessing. 
Then tears within her blue eyes start, 
As she exclaims "1 wish, my dear. 
Your darling mother were but here!"" 
"But Paul has promised, when we make 
Our wedding journey, he will take 
Me to her home ; so I rejoice 
At tho't of seeing her." The voice 
Of Glaid now calling Pearl, they heard — 
Yet in his presence not a word 



GLENORIE. 179 

At first he spake ; but closely drew 

Her to him, while a searching view 

He bent upon her blushing face — 

Her eyes cast down in modest grace — 
Then in low tones, that slightly quavered, 
"I see my darling child has treasured 

With me kind tho'ts for our young friend, 

Who begs of me that I will lend. 

Or give, to him my priceless Pearl : 

But can I spare my precious girl ?'' 

And then she clung to him, and cried, 
"Dear father, I will never leave you! 
ril bid him seek another bride. 

If thus to wed him will so grieve you I " 
"Nay, dear one,'' kissing her, "most wrong 

Should I be, if in selfishness 

I sought to mar your happiness I 

But thus ril not disturb you, 

For knowing Paul most worthy, 

I have expected this sweet blending 

Of soul with soul, would be the ending 
Of friendship pure between you. Long 
Pve seen and felt it must be so. 
And my consent have given ; altho' 
It is my wish that Paul should come, 
And share, with you, my love and home." 
Then leading her to Paul, he placed 
Her hand in his, and blessings craved 
Upon their future lives. And then 
He left them to their joy again, 



I So GLENORIE. 

And soi^ht his study chair once more. 
The sunset radiance Hngered o'er 
The mountain line, where late the sun 
His crimson tapestry had hung ; 

And clouds, still tinged both rose and golden. 

Thro' open window shone before him ; 
But Glaid, absorbed in present tho't 
And memories deep, beheld them not. 

For this betrothal of his child. 

Had stirred the waves of tender feeling — 
His own short wedded bliss revived, 

And its sad ending : thus revealing 
Its long-gone, heavy grief again. 
A gentle sigh his lips escaping. 
He turned unto his desk, there taking 
His pen to \Mite. But in comes Marion, 
Her heart instinctively preparing 
To cheer the sadness which her brother 
She knew would feel. '-Tho" worthiest lover 
Maid ever had is this Paul Dane. 
1 knew some sorrow would possess 
Your heart this hour with loneliness. 
But God has sent me, brother dear, 
A letter, just received, to cheer 
Your grief away. I ^^TOte Glenorie 
My tho'ts about Pearl's lover, only-^ 
In part : but she, the truth swift guessing, 
Has sent her child her mother's blessing. 
If you approve her choice : I'll leave it. 
So at your leisure you can read it. 



GLENORIE. lol 

He took the letter \nth a smile. 

"Dear Marion, thanks I I own awhile 
I have been very sorrowful, 
'Mid all my blessings bountiful : 

But now your presence doth restore 

My peace and gladness back once more."" 

And then he spake of many times. 

She'd been to him a comforter, 
True as those were in olden climes 
Called also angel messenger. 
"You've robbed my griefs of half their sting: 
Do I forget, when war upon us 
Bro't seeming ruin, taking from us 
Our wealth, our home awhile, who with me 
Went to Christ's work, to aid and give me 
Her love and cheer, "mid suffering 
Of wounded men : ere ministering 
To many wants? You've ei^'er been 
Shedding rich joy upon my path. 
God bless you. sister!" "Yea. He hath. 
In thee, my brother." Soon she left him, 
But speaking thus of joys and blessing 
Awoke a tender, grateful feeling. 
Dispelling loneliness. Then reading 
Glenorie"s letter, there he found 
More balm to sweeten sorrow's wound. 
For every sentence seemed to breathe 
The \\Titer"s happiness and peace. 
And to her words his spirit answered. 
"Yes. dear one. if your prayers are granted. 



1 82 C.LENORIE. 

'Twill hush my pain and tender longing, 

To know you're happy in performing 

The duties that lie thick about you. 

'Tis better I should live without you ! 

Thus only can I still inherit 

The power to lift the darkened spirit 

Of mourning ones up towards the light 

Of heavenly joy and truth and right. 

My Saviour bore far greater sorrow, 

And I his footsteps still will follow ; 

For souls that bear his cross in meekness, 

Shall share, even here, the blissful sweetness 

Of His communion : And completeness 

Of love's fruition, where "are given 

In marriage" none of all God's children. 

And there in joy I trust to meet you. 

If here, on earth, my will completely 

I yield to Him, "Our Father" loving. 

Who by earth's discipline is proving 

All souls. Let me His work perform! 

"Feeding" Christ's "lambs," raise up from wrong, 

And sin, all those within my reach ; 

Revealing truths He bids me teach. 

To bless and purify His people ! 

O, Father, for the work grant equal 
Strength with my faith, that I may be 
Worthy the joy Thou hast for me!" 

And in the dusky, tender gloaming. 

Then to him came a dream or vision — 
I know not if his eyes were holden. 



GLENORIE. 183 

Or if he slept, but this was given : 
He saw that far-off English home, 

And found himself a dweller in it ; 
And those two children, gay as linnet 
Of joyous spring time, came beside him, 
And called him father. When to chide them 
He tho't, they answered, "When to Heaven 
Dear papa went, he said he'd given 
Us both to you, to be your own." 

And then their mother also came. 

And called him husband, just the same 

As long ago. The joy awoke 

Him, or the vision quickly broke ; 

Should it e'er prove reality — ah ! well. 

The coming years alone will tell! 

Pd rather think 'twas but a dream. 

For reader, I can never deem 

This chastened soul, so richly blest. 

With Christly love its constant guest, 

Fails its reward here to receive 

For all its loss. For I believe 

The spirit of love is sweeter far, 

By far more beautiful, than e'er 

Its brightest earthly form can be. 

And dawn of Heaven's reality 

He gains, whose heart has gathered this 

Sweet Spirit of embodied bliss ; 

So pure, so fair, so wonderful, 

Its beauty is unspeakable! 

Then let not tears of sorrow fall, 

Reader, if yours the fate some call 



1 84 GLENORIE. 

Unblest. If love finds not return 
Of love for you on earth, you'll learn 

This joy, while "passing "neath the rod," 
Christ's Comforter will be your guest. 
Its heavenly peace you \\-ill inherit. 
So take this truth, and never fear it. 

Your recompense is in the Heart of God. 
Or in the heart of love itself. 
Which is God's Spirit. 



FINIS. 




OTHER POEMS. 



12 



Other Poems. 



SPRING WELCOME. 

O, thou art welcome, gentle Spring — 

Glad season of the year ! 
Thou of soft showers on sunny wing, 

We joy to hail thee here ! 
To greet again thy winsome days, 

And hours that swiftly roll, 
Fraught with those pleasant imageries 

Thou bringest to the soul. 

How beautiful thy spirit now. 

In all that meets the eye ; 
The crimson buds are on each bough, 

The rose-clouds in the sky ; 
The gentle breeze that glides along 

Sings loving words of thee ; 
The streams unbound go dancing on. 

Rejoicing to be free. 



OTHER POEMS. 

And ev'ry heart with bright-hued dreams 

Is fairly brimming o'er — 
Such pure sweet tho'ts, to us it seems 

We have not known before. 
It may be, thro' drear Winter's hours, 

Within our souls they've lain 
Folded unconscious, as the flowers 

Are in a summer's rain. 

Awaiting but the angel hand, 

While robing earth anew 
In beauty's bloom, to raise her wand, 

And touch our spirits too. 
In each bright flower that opes its leaves 

To kiss of balmy air, 
A language mute, yet eloquent. 

We find is written there. 

The sunbeams glancing in the dell 

Of woodland's moss retreat — 
The many sounds that grateful tell 

Thy gladsomeness, most sweet ; 
The happy chimes of rills along, 

The melody of birds. 
Awaken in each heart a song, 

Too beautiful for words. 

Why is it thus, that every thing 
Recalled from Winter's dream. 

Has such a nameless charm, to bring 
A thrill of joy within ? 



OTHER POEMS. 1 89 

Is't not because the soul divine 

A semblance faint can see 
Of its own glorious, glad Spring-time, 

In earth's new purity? 

I think so ; and thrice welcome then 

Art thou, bright, laughing Spring ; 
And grateful thanks shall rise again 

For thee, since thou dost bring 
Sweet visions of that radiant shore, 

Where joy's pure rivers roll. 
Where love and peace dwell evermore — 

Blest Spring — Land of the Soul. 



190 OTHER POEMS. 



DREAM-LAND'S RAINBOW. 

Beautiful Land ! ever hidden from sight ! 
Save to the eye that is curtained from light, 
Say, shall I sing of the mystical scenes 
Painted so oft in the "vision of dreams?'' 
Basking in sunlight far brighter than earth — 
Then into peril that hushes our mirth — 
Such are the scenes that our spirit eyes see, 
When in our slumber we hasten to Thee. 

Walking in places we knew not before, 

Greet we the loved, earth cannot claim more ; 

Wild with the joy, lo ! we speak, and we fall — 

Gone is the beauty — the vision and all. 

Once when a child, ere sorrow I knew. 

One night I dreamed that above, in the blue 

Of a soft summer eve, there a rainbow was spanned. 

And I flew thro' the air, for I'd wings at command. 

Up, on to the mountain, where rose from the ground 
One side of the arch ; and lo ! there I found 
That what gave the rainbow each beauteous shade. 
Was the marvelous floivers of which it was made. 
Such roses and bells of myriad form, 
Such exquisite hues each leaf did adorn. 
Such velvety richness earth flowers never wore. 
Or yielded such perfume as these flowers bore. 



OTHER POEMS. I9I 

But I pulled up their roots from the far mountain's brow, 
And drew with my hand — I could not tell how — 
That end of the arch down, down to my home, 
And planted them close by the old door-stone. 
Then I gazed with delight at the ladder of light, 
This rainbow of flowers — so glowing and bright — 
That rose at my side to the Heaven's deep blue,- 
Thro' the soft, misty rain, till it vanished from view. 

In grief then I woke ; but the vision so fair 

Long years have not stolen from memory's care ; 

For oft I recall it, when clouded my way. 

And sweet is the vieanijig it now doth convey. 

All trials, all sorrows, the Good Father sends 

To our lives, are more precious than richest of gems ; 

For they drop down the seeds at our very heart's door. 

Of the heavenly flowers that bloom evermore. 

And when we've enough for a ladder of light — 

A rainbow of flowers, all fair to His sight, 

Leading up from our hearts to the Heaven's far dome. 

He'll bid us mount up to that joy-blest home. 

Where the sunbeams we've caught from the Land Ideal, 

In our dreams of delight will all be real ; 

Where our spirits will grow, in the knowledge of Heaven, 

To beauty excelling the rainbow of even. 



192 OTHER POEMS. 



TO LUCY IN HEAVEN. 

Tis twilight's calm and gentle hour, 

And tho't now freed from care 
Dreams heavenly dreams, and lo ! each flower. 

Has bowed its head in prayer. 
The echo of the warbler's song 

Has softly passed away, 
The breeze, still singing, glides along 

As light as angels may. 

The sky, a deep, delicious blue, 

Is widely spread above ; 
And earth is calmly resting, too. 

Beneath God's eye of love. 
Beside yon violet-tinted cloud. 

One soft, bright star I see. 
And on its beam my spirit soars 

In rapture up to Thee. 

How mem'ry wakes her magic spell, 

This lovely eve in June, 
When pearled with dew each blade and bell. 

And I with thee commune. 
Tm seated by thy side once more. 

Thine arm is round me thrown, 
I hear thy voice, just as of yore, 

With its low breathing tone. 



OTHER POEMS. 1 93 

How long the time since last we met, 

With health upon thy brow ! 
How swiftly fled that day, and yet 

Its hours are passing now. 
'Tis just two years this summer time, 

Since joyous thou didst come 
To greet again the dear loved ones. 

Who waited thee at home. 

O, blissful meeting! Dreamed we not 

That when another came, 
Our hearts that then with joy were fraught, 

Would swell with grief's sad strain. 
But pale thy gentle form, and cold — 

Thy loving smile had flown. 
And on thy lips a hush, that told 

Thy soul had wandered home. 

Yes, home ! for death was but the dawn 

Of glorious life more fair ; 
And quickly passed thy cherub ones 

To gladly join thee there. 
Sad, sad indeed! dear sister mine, 

For us to give thee up ; 
For us to bow with hearts resigned, 

And drink the bitter cup. 

But the bright faith that gave to thee 

Thy holy trust, is ours ; 
It paints a meeting yet to be. 

In the glad future's hours. 



194 OTHER POEMS. 

Our love for thee — a dream of light — 

Is to our spirits given ; 
Thy memory — a star all bright, 

To win our hearts to Heaven. 



And thus I muse at this sweet hour, 
Which e'er to thee was dear, 

I do not see thy form, but O ! 
I feel that thou art near. 

And as I gaze upon those skies, 
Where eve's pure lamps do shine, 

How much I wish my soul could rise, 

• And soar away with thine ! 




OTHER POEMS. I95 



MY YOUNGEST NIECE. 

Two velvet lips of peachen hue. 
Two starry eyes of sweetest blue, 
Two cheeks, soft painted with the rose, 
A forehead fair, and dainty nose — 
These hath a certain baby girl — 
Genevieve, the household pearl. 

Not far beyond her first birth-day, 

As yet, her feet have chanced to stray — 

Chanced — nay, not chance, a Father's love 

Guides and permits our precious dove 

Awhile to fold her angel wings, 

'Mid earthly joy and shado wings. 

Bright, winning ways hath Genevieve, 

Tho' sometimes she makes us grieve. 

When by frowning look and tone, 

She asserts a will — her own ; 

But I love her spite of this, 

Deem her presence fraught with bliss. 

Here she comes with roguish air. 
Hiding now behind my chair ; 
And, with eyes brim full of fun, 
Plays "boo peep," then off doth run ; 
While her laugh floats back to me 
Sweeter than bird melody. 



196 OTHER POEMS. 

Blessings on thee, darling child! 
May thy life be pure and mild ! 
Be a rich and holy psalm, 
Breathing incense, shedding balm. 
For all sorrows time may throw 
On the hearts that love thee so. 

May thy soul, if length of years 
Crown thee in this "vale of tears," 
From each bright and sunny hour, 
Gather up the priceless dower 
Of unfaltering trust in God, 
When He calls thee 'neath His rod. 

Earthly love would spare thee this. 
Would but deck thy path with bliss ; 
But a higher love than ours. 
Places thorns among the flowers ; 
So I'll ask thy lot may be 
What God sees is best for thee ! 

If He will the bud to ope — 
Rich, I trust, in love and hope 
Shall the blossom be — may the dews 
Of charity its leaves suffuse ; 
In its heart be there enshrined 
The fadeless beauty of the mind. 

Firm resistance, too, be found 
When temptations lurk around ; 
Then thy life will ever be 
Brightening for eternity. 
Household pearl and sunbeam thou, 
Angels keep thee pure as now ! 



OTHER POEMS. I97 



HOPE'S PALACE. 

Over the sunset hills, to-night, 

I have looked with longing eyes, 
For I caught the gleam in the rosy light, 

Of Hope's blest Paradise. 
Its beautiful turrets shining are 

Out o'er the restless Sea of Time — 
Over the mountains, high and fair, 

It stands on the shore divine. 
Oh ! beautiful Palace of light divine ! 

Rapturous joys thou hast for me — 
May I be patient and bide my time. 

And a cheerful worker be ; 
For "vineyards white" are beside my way, 

Where I must a laborer be, 
Sharing the toil and heat of the day, 

Ere I reach the Shore of the Sea, 
Where the pilot rows his mystical boat. 

Carrying safely the children o'er. 
To our Father's House — my Palace of Hope, 

Love's Home of the Soul, evermore. 



T98 OTHER POEMS. 



IN THE MORNING. 

Aurora, from her radiant home 

In fairer worlds, elysian. 
Once more doth earthward kindly roam, 
To greet our vision. 

How quiet now all things around ! 

The hush of expectation 
Rests like a magic charm profound, 

O'er all creation. 

Yet soon, above the mountain brows 

That bound the far horizon. 
Faint waves of light along the clouds 
Begin to brighten. 

While robin, from his resting place 
Among the shade trees' branches, 
Chirps softly to his mate "Awake! 

The dawn advances." 

And even while the holy light 
Of star-beam faintly lingers. 
Morn folds the curtains of the night 
With rosy fingers. 

Back from the eastern sky away. 
Where now the sun appearing. 
Salutes his blushing bride, the day. 

With smile most cheering. 



OTHER POEMS. IQQ 

And far o'er all the landscape wide, 

His golden beams descending, 
Each pearl of dew is glorified 

For its ascending. 

While tree and cottage, hill and town, 

All things that greet the morning. 
Receive with joy the sunlight's crown 
Of rich adorning. 

Along the vale it turns the mist 

That hangs above the river, 
From the soft glow of amethyst. 

To burnished silver. 

Upon the air, in notes of joy, 
Bird melodies are stealing ; 
Their grateful praise — no base alloy — 
To God revealing. 

And fresh and cool, the wakened breeze, 

With sweetest perfume laden. 
Caught from the dewy floweret leaves, 
Or boughs that shade them, 

Comes murmuring by to join the song 

Of universal gladness. 
For Nature's choir, this glorious morn. 
Sings not of sadness. ^ 

So should it be ; and may each soul 

Drink in the inspiration. 
Till gratitude shall heavenward soar 

In adoration. 



200 OTHER POEMS. 

For man, earth's wondrous beauty shines 

From poles to the equator : 
For man, are filled earth's many mines. 
By our Creator. 

Mines that viill peld the golden ore 

Of worth — true wisdom's neighbor — 
And all may win a goodly store, 

By honest labor. 

If we but work, with holy trust 

In God, for truth and duty. 
We all may gather — not earth's dust — 
But its rich beauty. 

Expecting not all joy alone 

Will shine on us to-morrow. 
For needfiil to our souls the storm 

And discipline of sorrow. 

Kind is the wisdom which has placed 

The good and ill together — 
Dearer the sunshine, when prefaced 

By cloudy weather. 

And blessings brighten thro' the strife 

And furnace-fire of trial — 
More honey have the sweets of life 

From long denial. 

Our "chastenings,'' grievous tho' they seem. 

Ope wide the spirit's portal. 
And ripen fruits of peace serene. 

For life immortal- 



OTHER POEMS. 201 

And we shall see, when dawns the light 

Of that Celestial morning, 
Our ''crosses'' wrought the stars most bright. 
Our crowns adorning. 

Then let us trust, as o'er the sea 
Of time our barks are gliding, 
In Him, whose hand will surely be 

In safety guiding. 

In sun or shade, in joy or pain. 

His loving care is o'er us ; 
Let us not shrink the cup to drain, 

He sets before us. 

And when our spirits leave the clay, 

When sight for faith is given, 
May angels fold death's night away. 

Revealing Heaven. 



13 



202 OTHER POEMS. 

CONSOLATION. 

"Count it an assurance of more vital good when God denies you, 

O, thou whose dearest hopes are crushed — 

Whose fondest prayers have been denied — 
Think not abused has been thy trust 

In Him, to whom thy spirit cried ; 
'Tis that thy Father hath for thee 

Some better gift, some greater "good,'" 
Thou needest more ; and thine 'twill be. 

From out His store of plentitude. 

Perhaps 'twill come in joys divine, 

To bless thy soul with heavenly lore, 
Or bliss that never could be thine. 

Until this sorrow ope'd the door. 
Then cease to mourn thy bright hope dead, 

Rise from its grave, with chastened heart 
Submit to God, by Him be led. 

And peace shall bid thy grief depart. 

Behold the Spring-bird in the rain 

Pours forth his song, tho" dark the sky! 
His trust in God is all the same, 

Tho' naught of light yet greets the eye ! 
Learn thoii to sing when sorrow's rain 

Beats down on thy defenseless head ! 
God's tender love is in thy pain. 

As when He grants thy prayers instead. 



OTHER POEMS. 

Take up thy "cross,"' whatever it be, 
With patient step go bravely on. 

Be childlike in thy trust, and He 
Shall guide thee safely thro" the storm. 

Take up thy work with cheerful song, 
Believing yet that God is kind — 

Soothe other hearts that else would mourn. 
And thou, that higher "good," shalt find— 
Soul-love, the God in Christ enshrined. 




204 OTHER POEMS. 



SUMMER DREAMINGS. 

The day is warm and bright and golden, 

As summer days so often are. 
The sky, tho' tinged with hue so olden, 

I cannot call aught else but fair ; 
And Nature, rich with life is teeming, 

While all her pleasant, joyous things, 
Seem to have caught the brightest gleaming 

Of beauty's glory — colored wings ^ 
The breeze, sweet scented with the perfume 

Of roses blooming by the garden wall, 
And laden with the song of birdling. 

Comes thro' the open door where sunbeams fall. 

For long the sun has passed the zenith. 

And now is hastening down the west ; 
The hour is dreamy, and believe it, 

This piece of sewing surely longs to rest. 
And tho't its freedom asks to wander 

From work and household cares aside. 
I will not check it, for 1 love to ponder 

Sometimes on other things beside. 
So watching now the maple branches swaying 

In the cool zephyrs to and fro, 
Quick memory in my heart is playing 

The dear, sweet music of the long ago. 



OTHER POEMS. 205 

Why to the past so swiftly hasten 

The dreamings of this sunny hour? 
Why not the future more engaging 

Beheld thro' aid of fancy's power? 
'Tis not that I would live again the moments 

Of vanished joys and sadder scenes, 
For well, ah ! well, my spirit knoweth 

The past was not what now it seems. 
For time a light — a magic glory — 

Flings ever round departed days, 
Making them glow with something holy, 

As "distance lends enchanting" rays. 

And from their griefs — tho' still remembered — 

It takes away all sense of pain, 
Save a half pensive, sober feeling. 

We would not banish or disdain. 
God saw it best that we should know them — 

"Blessings", He sent them "in disguise"; 
And sorrows now they are no longer. 

When from the past their memories rise. 
Therefore, I love to woo the radiance 

Of by-gone moments back once more, 
Sweeter it is, than richest fragrance 

Lingering the fairest floweret o'er. 

To meet the friends of hours departed. 

In memory's \ision on this summer's day — 

For here they come, the living from me parted. 
And those from earth now passed away ; 

And those beloved ones, yet as constant 

As when the star of friendship first did shine. 



2o6 OTHER POEMS. 

And others still, tho' time a shadow 
Has left between their hearts and mine. 

But all are perfect in my dreaming, 

And once again "the heart-warm" hand I press, 

And read from their dear eyes the beaming 
Glance of affection's tenderness. 

How thrills my soul, as now rehearsing 

The sunny hopes so early flown ; 
How swift time flies, while thus conversing 

Of joys we have together known ! 
And lo! a whisper comes 'mid our communion. 

That makes my heart with rapture swell, 
Breathing a promise of reunion, 

Without the aid of memory's spell. 
An emblem this of that diviner meeting, 

On Heaven's unfading, spring-land shore. 
Where all shall join the resurrection greeting, 

And love our spirits fill forevermore. 

But ah ! the vision fades for, slight to mention, 
A sound breaks in — the clock strikes four ; 

And tea affairs will now demand attention, 
So for to-day my dreams are o'er. 



OTHER POEMS. 20/ 



THE THREE ANGELS. 



Three sister angels God has given 
To cheer man's pilgrimage to Heaven. 
A peace, a joy, the two will be, 
The third is "greatest of the three. 



A guide amid life's woes and tears, 
Being of light, the first appears. 
Her eyes with holy rapture burn, 
As e'er towards Heaven they fondly turn, 
While o'er the earth she takes her way, 
To be our solace and our stay. 
Where'er the cloud and storm abide, 
There, thro' the darkness she doth glide 
To calm the spirit's doubt and fear, 
With the assurance God is near ; 
His hand directs thy trembling bark, 
His arms are round thee, tho' so dark 
Thy vision that thou canst not see 
His looks of tenderness for thee. 
She lifts the mourner's drooping head 
In anguish, weeping o'er the dead ; 
Of heavenly love she sweetly sings, 
While from her pinions bright she flings 
Immortal radiance round the tomb. 
Dispelling far its shade and gloom ; 



208 OTHER POEMS. 

Then brings to view the shining wall 
Of that blest city, where for all 
Jesus prepares a glorious home. 
Where sin and death may never come, 
Of glad reunions with the lost, 
And those on earth we've cherished most. 
Celestial Faith ! O, but for thee, 
How dark our mortal race would be ! 
Thou anchor on the foaming wave ! 
Thou halo shining o'er the grave ! 
Thou whisper from Jehovah's breast, 
Leading His children to their "resf — 
Thy blessings are true earthly peace ; 
O, in our hearts thy light increase, 
Till all our lives be one harmonious hymn, 
Whatever betide, of perfect trust in Him. 

Angel of beauty, radiant, bright, 
The second sister greets the sight ! 
With dancing step and gleeful song. 
She glides the paths of life along ; 
Her bursting buds she freely flings 
To childhood, joy to youth she brings ; 
And manhood, vexed with cares and fears, 
Smooths out his brow when she appears ; 
While hoary age, with tho't matured. 
Is with her riches well insured. 
The peasant's cot her presence owns, 
As well as mammon's lordly homes ; 
And crowded street — the darksome lane. 
The prison cell — the bed of pain, 



OTHER POEMS. 209 

The wanderer far in stranger land. 

The parted from affection's band, 

All share her bright and heavenly smile, 

Their toils, their sorrows to beguile. 

Immortal Hope! undying truth 

Catches from thee her fadeless youth — 

Thou art the glory of the morn — 

The sunbeam glancing thro' the storm — 

The rainbow bending o'er the wood — 

The dove returning o'er the flood — 

The "silver lining"' to the cloud — 

The star, whose lustre naught can shroud — 

The music of our happiest hours — 

The dew gem on love's holy flowers — 

All these, dear Hope, and more, thou art 

The smile of God upon the heart ! 

Thy blessings are of joy and light, 

O help us. Lord, to use them right, 
That all our hopes thro' life may be 
Drawing us ever nearer Thee. 

With air of sweet benignity. 
Comes the third angel. Charity. 
Her brow is pale, for she doth know 
"Long suffering" hours of pain and woe. 
Yet ever "kind," nor scorn or pride. 
Nor envy may with her abide. 
But holy love and pity beam 
In her mild eyes, such as I ween 
Shone in our Saviour's when he walked 
This earth, and with the erring talked. 



2IO OTHER POEMS. 

"Enduring all"' thus she doth go, 
Among the poor, the sinning, low. 
Seeking their good and "not her own," 
Winning them back with gentle tone, 
Tho' long they may have gone astray, 
To walk again the better way. 
O, Charity! tho* we possess 
"All knowledge," talent, power to bless 
The needy, and can claim the "faith" 
That would "move mountains" from their place, 
At our command, and have not thee. 
Thou soul refiner, naught are we. 
O, may we follow at thy voice, 
"Rejoicing" as thou dost rejoice. 
Loving thee more, until thy home 
Thou makest within these hearts, our own ; 
Then thy rich blessing thou'lt impart 
Unto our lives ; for O, Thou art 
The love of God for all tnankindl 
Deep in our souls may it be shrined, 
To breathe our every action thro\ 
As sunshine beameth thro' the dew ! 
O, Father, may thy spirit's light — 
Thy Charity, so pure, so bright, 
Lead all our daily tho'ts and works to be. 
Such as will make us more like Thee ! 



OTHER POEMS. 211 



SEPTEMBER SUNSET. 

Lo ! the evening spreads her banners 

In the far and radiant west, 
Where the crimson feet of sunset 

Linger on the mountain's crest ; 
Where the sun, that shining monarch 

Of the fast departing day, 
Gathers up his robe of glory, 

Fringed with many a golden ray. 

Back upon the sky of azure, 

Steals the bright and rosy hue, 
Tinging all the clouds of purple, 

Sailing thro' the boundless blue ; 
And far east, where blushing morning 

Breaks the silver glow of night, 
Even there, the snow-white cloudlets 

Catch the melting, trembling light. 

While o'er plain and wood majestic, 

Touched with autumn's "mellow beam," 
And the hills yet bright with verdure. 

Rising 'mid the vales serene, 
And o'er rills with sparkling waters. 

Where the sunbeams love to rest — 
Over all the lovely prospect. 

Floats the glory of the west. 



212 OTHER POEMS. 

As I watch the radiance glowing 

All around my cherished home, 
Tho'ts of wonder — tho'ts adoring, 

Thrilling o'er my spirit come. 
O, if earth may wear such beauty — 

Earth so stained with crime and sin, 
What must be that glorious City, 

Where no sin can enter in? 

In the Home of "many mansions," 

Where the "crystal river" flows — 
Where no need of "sun"' or moonbeams — 

Where no sorrow comes or goes — 
Where the tears from "off all faces," 

Shall for aye be wiped away. 
Where God's holy presence maketh, 

Pure and bright, perpetual day ! 

But the sun behind the mountains 

Draws his crimson, burning head, 
Angel hands fold up the splendor 

That streamed down when day's soul fled 
Thro' Heaven's gateway ; and the twilight. 

Now her gentle reign is won, 
Lighting star-lamps, scattering dew-pearls, 

Softly whispers "day is done," 



OTHER POEMS. 2I3 



SHADOWS. 

"One by one" the rain clouds gather in the sky, 
"One by one" the shadows on life's pathway lie ; 
Some are thin, transparent as the soft twilight. 
Others deeper, darker than the darkest night ; 
Shutting out the glory of hope's morning sun — 
Can the soul then murmer, "Lord, thy will be done?'' 

Showers of rain when over leave the earth more bright, 
O, ye cold, cold shadows, will ye give us light? 
True, your darkness brightens to faith's lifted eyes, 
Joys for us eternal in God's Paradise, 
But earth-life seems dreary — sad its days to come, 
Can the spirit whisper, "Lord, thy will be done?" 

Yes, for lo! in beauty, resignation's flowers 
Bloom beside life's pathway, shaded tho' its hours. 
And their holy perfume soothes the heart's deep pain. 
Whispering of our Saviour, bring they peace again ; 
For in His dear presence sweet content is won — 
Lord, the soul nerd) answers, let "Thy will be done!" 



214 OTHER POEMS. 



GUARDIAN ANGELS. 

When the wings of night are folded 

Round each snow-clad vale and hill, 
And the stars of heaven above them 

Shine, so beautiful and still ; 
When, within, the lamps are lighted, 

And the cares of day have flown — 
The household band united, 

Converse in pleasant tone — 

Then oft amid the pauses, 

As the moments glide along. 
Do I turn with saddened longing. 

For the "absent" and the "gone ;'■ 
Who once with cheerful faces, 

And brows light touched with care. 
Took their familiar places, 

And filled each vacant chair. 

Two "absent," fondly cherished, 

Now brighten their own home. 
The third — the early perished — 

Is sleeping 'neath the stone. 
And sadder grow my longings, 

Altho' no tear-drops start. 
But a voiceless grief still deeper, 

Tells the weeping of the heart. 



OTHER POEMS. 215 

Then it seems as if light fingers 

Were laid upon my head, 
And tones, whose memory lingers 

Long after night has fled, 
Low tones of richest music. 

Reprove my spirit^s grief; 
O, are they not kind angels, 

Who bring this sweet relief? 

I believe it! and forever, 

When dark storms my life betide. 
May I heed these gentle teachers, 

And my murmurings lay aside ! 
'Tis best there should be shadow 

Mingled with the sunbeams fair, 
For these waves of chastening sorrow 

Keep the heart attuned to prayer. 




2l6 OTHER POEMS. 



SPRING ZEPHYRS. 

Breezes of Spring, once more ye are blowing 

Saucily, noisily, lightsome and free, 
Beauty and bloom o'er the round earth sowing, 

Yet to burst forth in the June days to be. 
Hark ! from the hills, where the boughs of the woodland, 

Naked and cold, have shivered so long. 
Do you not hear how the blithe little red-breast 

Pours out his welcome in jubilant song? 

Now in the vale, from his crystal encampment 

Springe th the brook, with his silvery flow 
Of tinkling notes, that possess the enchantment 

To waken the flower roots under the snow. 
Down from the sky, where the rain-clouds wander 

Lazily, dreamily thro' the deep blue, 
Sunbeams are straying, of soft glowing amber, 

Proving the sun has grown kindlier, too. 

Season of Hope! Spring's Goddess we name her, 

And oifer our welcome in gratefulest prayer, 
While Nature wakens to greet the sweet stranger, 

Aud fills with glad murmurs the palpitant air. 
Season of Promise ! Down deep in the heart soil 

We must turn furrows, and be sowing, too. 
For duty and charity — cheer for the sorrowing. 

All point to labor that we have to do. 



OTHER POEMS. 217 

O, may we work when the sunshine is round us, 

Cheerfully, earnestly casting the seed, 
And when the rainy days many have found us, 

Let not repining tho't scatter one weed ! 
For it is true that by patient endurance, 

Bearing our burden of sorrow and pain 
Trustingly, thus can we earn the insurance 

That will draw rich harvest of immortal grain. 

Courage then, toiler ! not vain are thy trials ! 

God has some good hidden under each sting. 
And He will give you, at His hour, the blessing. 

For lo ! He forgets not to send us the Spring. 
Out of His infinite loving and giving. 

All things shall finally work out their aim. 
And we shall see, as needful, our discipline. 

As for the harvest, the days of Spring rain. 



14 



2l8 OTHER POEMS. 



DEATH OF A SISTER. 

"She sleeps, but we are in tears." 
The days are dark with shadow, 

However the sun shines fair, 
The heart within is wounded, 

And tears are flowing there ; 
For love, beside the altar 

Of fond affection, weeps, 
And oft, in tones that falter, 

Murmurs '■'• another sleeps." 

"She sleeps," the wife, the mother, 

The daughter, sister true. 
Has heard the call "Come Homeward," 

And passed from mortal view. 
O, bitter, bitten- knowledge, 

O, mournful truth, to know 
Henceforth this life's strange journey, 

Without her we must go ! 

To know that spring's soft breezes 

Will kiss to bloom the flowers. 
But they will not, cannot waken 

This darling one of ours ! 
Whose life was one rich poem 

Of sweet and holy words, 
Whose death — a glorious dawning, 

Where pain no more disturbs. 



OTHER POEMS. 219 

"She sleeps!" and death and sadness 

Can never reach her more ; 
She wakes to Ufe and gladness 

Upon the "other shore." 
Wakes in some brighter "mansion," 

In the City of the King, 
Where all God's waiting children 

Shall yet be gathered in. 

And there she greets her cherub — 

The babe so early flown — 
Greets that dear one who also. 

Five years ago, went Home. 
O, tho' her place is vacant, 

Her cheerful smile has fled. 
And every moment tells us. 

That she is with the dead ; 

And tho' we miss her sadly, 

And list her voice in vain ; 
We would not be rebellious, 

Or call her back again. 
But trustful and submissive. 

Would kiss "the chastening rod," 
Would recognize "Our Father." 

In the all-wise, perfect God. 

Her memory shall cheer us. 

So beautiful and pure. 
Her spirit may be near us. 

To help us to endure. 



220 OTHER POEMS. 

Each bud shall be a token, 
When opened to the spring, 

That the tie which here is broken, 
There knows no severing. 

And when the twilight glideth 

'Neath sunsef s golden eaves, 
To deck the blue, soft sky above, 

With all those gems she leaves. 
Each star shall be a promise 

To these waiting souls of ours. 
Of a glorious reunion, 

Beyond earth's fading bowers. 

When angels ope the portal. 

As death's dark hours steal on. 
To that bright land immortal, 

Where all our lost have gone. 
How sweet her blest assurance 

Will to our spirits come, 
'-'■ThereHl be o?ie more to meet yoji,'^'' 

In that Celestial Home. 



OTHER POEMS. 221 



A RAINY DAY'S MUSINGS. 

Lo ! what a contrast is the morning 

From yester e'en's pure, rosy light, 
No pleasant sunshine cheered the dawning, 

That rent the slumbers of the night. 
But dark and cold, the clouds unbroken, 

Spread out their gloomy folds of gray, 
While o'er the hills, the mist gives token 

We shall have rainy hours to-day. 

A shadow lies along the valley. 

And shadows too the woodlands wear. 
Among the trees no soft winds dally, 

And scarce a bird note wakes the air. 
Earth patient waits, with meekness lowly, 

Baptism from the threatening skies. 
For well she knows a blessing holy, 

God sendeth in this **dark disguise." 

The time wears on, and soon a murmur. 

Light as bird footsteps on the leaves. 
Yet fast increasing every moment. 

Till lo! the rain pours down the eaves. 
O, thirsting soul! for thee the sunshine 

Of joy must often be withdrawn — 
Canst thou not seek and find instruction 

In this dark day of cloud and storm? 



222 OTHER POEMS. 

Look out on Nature's calm submission, 

And patience learn for hours of pain, 
When thy dear hopes fail of fruition. 

And thou art called griefs cup to drain. 
Not in achievement, but endurance, 

Thou cans't thy highest worth obtain ; 
Then when bereft of joy's allurements, 

Seek thou that truer good to gain ! 

"Thro' suffering" was thy blessed Saviour 

Made perfect for His glorious reign, 
And hopest thou in ease and pleasure, 

His heavenly likeness to attain ? 
His "thorny crown" and tears of anguish, 

Proclaim his brotherhood to thee — 
O, rapturous kinship! can'st thou languish, 

Soul, born to such high destiny? 

Nay, nay, thro' "trials grievous," 

Thou'rt growing towards that life divine. 
Where all these shadows, now mysterious. 

With purpose grand, unveiled shall shine. 
Soon will this dreary storm be over, 

And earth in richer light will glow. 
Thou, too, will in grief's cup discover 

A sweet to sanctify its woe. 

God's loving care enfolds thee ever. 
Drawing thee forward to the light, 

Then onward speed, with firm endeavor. 
Resisting wrong, choose but the right, 



OTHER POEMS. 322 

And bear thy "cross" with trust unshaken, 

Till earthly scenes are all o'er past, 
Then to the immortal dawn awaking, 

Be glorified in Christ, at last. 




224 OTHER POEMS. 



THE BRIDAL. 

With her golden clasp, the sunset 

Sealed the volume of the Day, 
And the angel maiden. Twilight, 

Earthward quickly took her way. 
Floating over town and hillside, 

Each low cot and lordly home, 
Marked the shadow of her presence, 

Falling o'er the threshold stone. 

And their inmates heard her whisper — 

"Mortals, raise your thanks on high. 
For I bring reward for labor — 

Peace and rest are drawing nigh." 
Some obeyed the whisper gladly. 

Others, careless in their sin, 
Had their hearts so full of evil, 

That no peace could enter in. 

Seeing this, the gentle maiden 

Turned aside in tearful grief, 
While the face of Nature darkened — 

Sympathy would bring relief. 
Then the hour for Night's approaching 

Found him ready at his post, 
While the sky, to give him welcome. 

Brightened with a shining host. 



OTHER POEMS. 225 

Drawing near the weeping Twilight, 

Night with loving words and tone, 
Soothed her till her heart grew hopeful, 

And smiles thro' her tear-drops shone. 
Then he pleaded — "God had given 

Both a mission here below — 
Why not bless mankind together, 

And together soothe each woe?" 

Sweet the wooing — soon her blushes 

Heralded, before it came, 
Her low answer, for she promised 

She would share his heart and name. 
Lovely was the fair bride, Twilight, 

With her "star-embroidered veil," 
Falling from the silver lillies 

Wreathed around her brow so pale. 

But they sought no grand cathedral, 

Reared by mortal love or pride, 
With its priest and gold — bound ritual — 

Nature had all these supplied. 
For the moon, that gentle priestess, 

Rising o'er the eastern heights, 
Listening to their vows eternal, 

Solemnized their marriage rites. 

And the breeze, which far had wandered 

O'er the earth by star-light dim, 
Now drew near and softly chanted, 

Chanted forth their bridal hymn. 



226 OTHER POEMS. 

Kneeling then they asked God^s blessing 
On the path they now must share ; 

Then arose to work together, 
In this world of joy or care. 

Rest they gave unto the weary, 

Peace unto the sorrowing. 
Bade the erring seek for mercy, 

And resolve no more to sin. 
Faithful, watching, that no duty 

Should by them be left undone — 
Time on swiftest pinion floated, 

Till the morning hours drew on. 

Then Aurora, crimson footed — 

Clothed in sunshine would appear ; 
So they sought the eastern mountains, 

And beheld her drawing near. 
Then as clouds of snowy whiteness, 

Melt in seas of rosy light. 
To the world of hope and gladness, 

Quick they took their homeward flight. 



OTHER POEMS. 227 



SUNSHINE. 

(After a severe illness.) 

Cer the brown earth the sunshine falls, 

With soft and mellow ray, 
And gentle zephyrs glide along, 

This warm October day. 

It is the Indian summer time, 

When o'er each faded scene. 
The angel of the autumn flings 

Her brightest, sunniest beam. 

But brighter sunshine in my soul. 

Bids it with joy run o'er ; 
For sweet the bliss that now is mine, 

To be at home once more. 

Ah ! words can never half express 

My heart's deep gratitude, 
That from the fevered couch of pain, 

And sick-room solitude, 

God has allowed my steps to turn 
Back to my childhood's home ; 

To greet the friends, long tried and true, 
I yet may call my own. 

And thankful, too, that when in doubt 
I felt my life's thread hung. 



228 OTHER POEMS. 

No murmuring tho't arose, to say 
My will, not "thine, be done." 

Not that earth-life had ceased to be 

Endearing still to me, 
But well I knew His will was best. 

Whatever its decree. 

Only I longed, amid the doubt, 
For strength enough to come 

Again unto this sacred roof. 
That I might die at home. 

And God has heard that earnest prayer. 

And granted even more, 
Hope's sunshine from the sky of health. 

Now floods my spirit o'er. 

Shine on, O, glorious autumn day! 

Still shed thy mellow rays. 
Made fairer by the contrast of 

Less pleasant rainy days. 

Had I not known the darkened hours 

Of illness and of pain, 
I could not feel the blessed joy 

Of health's return again. 

Then gratefully Til drink the cup — 

Or sweet or bitter given, 
For trials come to fit the soul 

For purer life in Heaven. 



OTHER POEMS. 229 



TO A RIVULET IN AUTUMN. 

Sweet rill, where are the lovely flowers 
That by thee bloomed in brighter hours, 
When summer's nymph had crowned the earth 
With radiant smiles of joy and mirth? 
Say, dost thou listen for the swell 
Of fairy note from crimson bell, 
That o'er thee hung, and shed its dews 
PYom leaves all bright with matchless hues ? 

Dost thou not miss the foliage green. 
That o'er thee hung in woodland's sheen. 
And threw, with such unspoken grace, 
Its shadcws on thy placid face ? 
Dost thou not miss the wild bird's song, 
That cheered thy wandering path along, 
When skies, unclouded and serene, 
Above and in thy depths were seen ? 

And most of all, dost thou not miss 
The warbling breezes soft caress ; 
That came, and with thy ripples played, 
When sunshine stole into the shade. 
And lighted every crystal cell. 
Where thy clear cascades foaming fell? 
Hast thou no answer, autumn rill ? 
Say, tell me, art thou happy still ? 



230 OTHER POEMS. 

The waves a moment ceased to flow 
With onward haste, and sweet and low 
Words fell upon my listening ear, 
And this was what I seemed to hear : 
The flowers you speak of passed away ; 
Sad, yet harmonious, their decay — 
A moral they have taught to me, 
That ril repeat again for thee. 

They faded, but they murmured not 
That they must die, and be forgot. 
I mourn them not, for spring once more 
Will those bright flowers and hours restore. 
And thou, whatever thy lot may be. 
Mourn not for joys now fled from thee ; 
But be content with blessings given. 
And thankful walk thy path to Heaven. 



OTHER POEMS. 23 1 



ANGEL MARY. 

We were two playmates of one name — 

Two cousins of one race, 
And in my heart 'twas hers to claim 

A large and sacred place ; 
For the sweet tie affection wove, 
In childhood's hours of trusting love, 
Was not a gossamer thread, to break 
When future years their flight should take ; 
And all their changes strove in vain 
To dim its light with rust or stain ; 
Still bright it glows, though she has gone 
Away from earthly care and storm. 

She was not one you'd lightly love, 

Or having loved, would soon forget — 
Her soul was bright with purest tho'ts. 

Her mind with gems of worth was set ; 
And sweet it is to call again 

The memories linked about her name ; 
Then oft her lovely face will rise — 
All eloquent her dark blue eyes, 
As I have seen them, many a time, 
When we perused some beauteous rhyme. 
Or as she looked, in hours by-gone, 
When thus she sang some favorite song. 



232 OTHER POEMS. 

She faded with the summer flowers, 

And when the leaves were scattered wide, 
One day, in autumn's solemn hours, 

Our darling Mary died. 
She said, as low declined the sun, 
'"Tis sweet to think ere day is done" — 
Then paused to hear the angels call. 
For soon she bade adieu to all ; 
And, when death's arms were round her thrown. 
Murmured, "I'm happy, going Home." 
And on her face, the holy light 
Spake truly, whence her spirit's flight. 

Too pure for earth, she passed to Heaven, 

Her soul's own native sky, 
To share the bliss which God has given 

His children, called on high ; 
To you, O mourning ones, He gives 
The influence of her life — that lives, 
And with her holy memory, 
It is a priceless legacy ; 
Bequeathing to your hearts a dower 
Of blessed tho'ts for every hour — 
Tho'ts that shall change to stars of light, 
And cheer you thro' affliction's night. 

Out of your sorrow joy shall spring. 
Too deep and pure for mortal words — 

To you her spirit's love shall bring 

A heavenly peace, that naught disturbs ; 

She will be near, tho' form and speech 

Have passed beyond your earth y reach ; 



OTHER POEMS. 233 

And hope shall sing in measures sweet, 
Your angel Mary you will meet, 
When o'er death's waves God's lovino- hand 
Shall guide you to the "Better Land." 
With dear ones in that glorious Home, 
You'll meet again your Mary flown. 



15 



234 OTHER POEMS. 



DAILY THOUGHT. 

Our souls are moulded by the tho'ts we think : 

If evil ones alone our -minds imbue, 
Then we are hastening towards the brink 

Where sin's dark river rolls in view. 
But if the good and brighter things of earth — 

The pure and true, our tho'ts engage-- 
Our souls are growing towards the birth. 

That Christ foretold in Jewish age. 

"Unto the pure, all things are pure!" 

But to the sinful, faithless heart 
Is nothing pure. Yet of this truth be sure, 

The fault is ours if all looks dark. 
Then with what care, we ought each hour to see 

That worthy tho'ts our minds possess. 
Else our own daily words will come to be 

Witness of our ungodliness. 

'Tis true that in this world we love. 

Hate, crime and sin, have much to do ; 
But their existence does not prove 

That we should be partakers, too ; 
Ah, no! but God allows them to be here 

For good. Nay, start not, reader mine, 
But lend with me the unprejudiced ear. 

Till Truth shall teach us at her shrine. 



OTHER POEMS. 235 

Did ever any living soul enlarge 

To grand and glorious stature here, 
Except within Temptation's gaudy barge 

'Twas often loudly urged to steer? 
And were not all its greatest victories 

Gained by resistance to the snares 
Sin laid, with many cautious whisperings. 

To bring to sorrow unawares ? 

Why was Christ tempted ? Why must He put on 

Our nature, too? Except within 
Our souls His high perfection could not dawn, 

Only by victory won o'er sin. 
Have we not felt a holier strength, new-born 

Within us, when we did repress 
The angry answer, were we charged upon 

By some heart blind with wrathfulness ? 

If never tempted, we should still remain 

Like seeds unsown ; and who should say 
Whether the germ within us would grow grain , 

Or moulder back to dust and clay ? 
'Tis then for our improvement God permits, 

What we call evil on this earth to be ; 
But woe to him whom sinful tho't inifits. 

In tempted hours, to gain the victory. 

A sinful soul is4ike a golden coin, 

Which, being lost, lies year by year, 
Unconscious of the good it might have done 

To human lives, by circulation here. 



236 OTHER POEMS. 

Yet still, tho' hidden deep in sand or stones, 

A golden coin it doth remain ; 
And tho' unread, it bears the words 

That tell its worth, and whence it came. 

Likewise the soul, lost to the light of Heaven 

In hideous paths of guilt and vice, 
Loses the joy it might have had and given 

To others, by a virtuous life ; 
And tho' so dark and black its outside grows, 

That men forget the gold within, 
God never does. He sees and knows. 

And watches o'er it, thro' all sin. 

For in His sight, tho' stained with darkest crime, 

'Tis precious more than jewels rare. 
For still its Maker's glorious seal and sign — 

His image — is engraven there. 
And He who does not let one atom small 

In all the universe be lost, 
Will find the means to certainly recall 

That soul to Him, whate'er the cost. 

The way is shown, for lo ! the Saviour came 

To sa7^e the lost ; and when shall close 
His reign, all souls shall sing the blissful strain, 

"Jesus redeemed us from our foes." 
But O, what grief! remorseful hours 

Afust come to those who dwelt so long 
In sin ! when conscience stings, as sting it will. 

Ere they can raise that glorious song. 



OTHER POEMS. 237 

Yet let us heed — none yield unto the power 

Of sin, but have corrupted been 
By evil tho'ts before. Help us each hour, 
. Dear Lord, to guard our hearts from sin ; 
That thro' temptations still our lives may glow 

With worthy deeds and virtue's lights. 
While our soul-sculptors, pure tho'ts, daily show 

Our statues likening unto Christ's. 



238 OTHER POEMS. 



NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 

The New Year cometh ! Hark ! a shout 
Of mirth and joy comes ringing out 

Upon the wintry air ; 
The world goes forth with dance and song, 
To greet him, as he hastens on 

To fill the Old Year's vacant chair. 

His step is firm and fearless now ; 
No mark of time is on his brow. 

Or any trace of sin ; 
Pure from His Maker's hand he comes, 
To glad our hearts, to light our homes. 

With blessings God consigns to him. 

Beside him, dancing to the tune 

Of her own carol, sweet as birds of June, 

Behold his handmaid, Hope ; 
While from her casket, swift she throws 
Her beauteous buds, which half disclose 

Heaven-treasures as they ope. 

The proud and low, the gay, the young. 
Gather those buds, so gracefully flung, 

With eager, trembling haste. 
O, may there be no thorn concealed 
Within their leaves, a woe to yield. 

Their fragrance pure to waste. 



OTHER POEMS. 239 

Hail to the New throned Year! 

Let greetings warm, and songs of cheer, 

Attest our joy sincere. 
O, may his reign be one of peace, 
And love and harmony increase 

Throughout our Union dear! 



*& 



May every cloud that dims its sky, 
To darken, or that would defy 

The noon-day sun of Liberty, 
Be vanquished by the heavenly light 
Of truth and wisdom — angels bright — 

To guide in life's perplexity. 

May North and South, like brothers, stand 
Eager to grasp the other's hand, 

In pledge of changeless amity ; 
Knowing, while love makes stronger bands 
Of Union, which each heart demands. 

The life of love is Liberty. 

Such hopes now crown the dawning Year, 
And when its work be finished here, 

May their fruition be, 
That broad o'er all our beauteous Land, 
North, South and West, far shall extend 

The dorious banner of the Free ! 



240 OTHER POEMS. 



SOWING TIME. 

Behold the seed-time now is thine ! 
Prepare the soil to enrich the mind. 
Be watchful, till before thee rise 
Some worthy work, or enterprise 
Of good ; then labor with thy might. 
Striving to walk "by faith," not sight; 
Be earnest, and the right pursue. 
And God will aid thy wish to do ; 
Be honest, and be pure and kind. 
Forgiving, if thou chance to find 
Another has done wrong to thee. 
As thou forgiven hope'st to be. 

So journey thro' thy pilgrimage 

Towards Heaven's immortal heritage ; 

Bearing a heart firm to the right, 

Its breast-plate truth, its motto bright. 

Ever to do, and to be good. 

And God, from His rich plenitude. 

Shall bless with holy joy thy soul, 

While here ; and when it nears the goal 

Where blooms in Eden's heavenly bower, 

Life's sweet, eternal, harvest flower 

Of love, made pure from sin and pain. 
Angels shall wake a joyful strain 
Of welcome to their glorious Home. 



OTHER POEMS. 



241 



Then, too, tho' thou from earth hast flown. 
Thy name a worthy one shall be. 
For love to keep in memory. 




242 OTHER POEMS. 



THE OLD BROWN HOUSE. 

'Tis one of June's enchanting days ; 

The glowing earth and skies 
Have caught from beauty's radiant wing 

Her richest gala dyes ; 
The air is full of music, 

For the robins and the breeze 
Have just commenced a love-song 

In the dear old maple trees. 

And the bloom upon the lilac boughs, 

Seems fairer than of yore. 
As I sit and watch the sunbeams 

Gleam thro' the open door. 
But tho't away is roaming, 

Far away o'er hill and dale. 
To a well remembered object — 

The Brown House in the vale. 

How memory brings me back again. 

The school-house thro' the wood. 
Where passed the busy week away. 

In efforts to do good. 
I see the low white cottage near, 

My home at eve and morn. 
Where I always found a welcome 

From hearts both true and warm. 



OTHER POEMS. 243 

But O, there cometh back to-day, 

That joyful thrill, the same 
That on each eve that closed school week, 

Unto my spirit came ; 
For tho' I met with kindness much — 

I could not ask for more — 
'Twas sweeter still to be with one 

That I had loved before. 

I remember, I remember well, 

The long walk thro^ the shade, 
When the summer birds and zephyrs 

Their softest music made : 
Then the bridge that spanned the river. 

In the meadow rich and green, 
The mountains in the distance, 

The circling hills between ; 

And there before me, on the knoll, 

The Brown House I could see, 
Where gentle smiles and loving tones, 

I knew were waiting me. 
It seems, dear aunt, Pm there again, 

I feel thy clasping hand, 
And hear the voice of welcome kind. 

From all the household band. 

I wander thro' each well known room, 

To one more dear to me, 
That wakes sweet, mournful memories 

Of those I cannot see ; 



244 OTHER POEMS. 

For it witnessed one glad meeting, 

A day that long has flown, 
And it saw the saddest parting 

I then had ever known. 

Now there rises up before me 

A face to me most fair, 
Once more my fingers pause amid 

That loved one's shining hair. 
To read the glance of those dear eyes, 

That ever on me shone. 
With all the love and tenderness, 

A sister's heart may own. 

And the gleeful tones of childhood's laugh 

Come ringing on the air. 
Till the music sound of tiny feet. 

Has paused beside my chair ; 
A little hand is clasped in mine. 

And I am gazing down 
Upon a brow that's shaded o'er 

With curls of golden brown. 

How beautiful that speaking face — 

It does not need the words 
That come from out those ruby lips, 

Like melody of birds ! 
And can it be I'm dreaming now, 

A dream that soon will fly, 
As all the joys of that blest day 

Go softly flitting by ? 



OTHER POEMS. 24$ 

There are some hours of happiness 

To every earth-life given, 
That seem to wear the glory 

Of our brightest dreams of Heaven. 
And S7ic/i were these, and they have left 

A holy spell, I can but love 
And treasure up, in memory, 

Of those who sing above. 

O, blessings on that Brown House — ■ 

May the loving Father's smile 
Forever rest upon its roof, 

All shadows to beguile. 
And till the soul-pervading light 

Of memory's star doth pale. 
My tho'ts will often linger round 

That Brown House in the vale. 



246 OTHER POEMS. 



OUR HOMES. 

Bright and very lovely is our earthly home, 

Tho' the storm-clouds darken oft its azure dome — 

Bright, when golden sunbeams wake to bloom the flowers, 

And the soft spring breezes chase the rose-hued hours — 

Bright, when summer's angel witching music brings, 

And all earth is shining with her joyous things ; 

When the matchless glory of sweet autumn's reign 

Lingers on the forest — lingers on the plain, 

And when winter's mantle, snowy, round is thrown — 

Beautiful each season makes our earthly home. 

And when friends are near us, friends of truth and worth, 

Calling tho'ts of gladness in our hearts, to birth 

When content is watching hopes of future joy. 

And no care disturbing cometh to annoy ; 

When the soul's peace-angel. Faith, is pure and strong, 

In the Hand that guideth us our way along. 

When distrust and sorrow far away have flown, 

O, how rich with beauty is our earthly home! 

Then amid its brightness long we wish to stay — 

Death is cold and cruel — "take us not away!" 

But such hours of gladness may not always last. 
Earthly joys are changing, earthly skies o'ercast — 
Cares do make us weary, courage takes its flight. 
Trials bring upon us shadows black as night ; 
Tempests gather o'er us clouds of darkest hue. 



OTHER POEMS. 247 

Even their "silver lining" almost hid from view ; 
Dear ones droop beside us, death with chilly hand 
Leads them from the present to the "Silent Land"; 
TJien with grief we murmur, Father, is this kind. 
Thus to take our treasures, leaving us behind ? 

Then the soul, immortal spark from love divine. 

Whispers of those "mansions" 'yond this "vale of Time," 

In the world unfading, world of light and bloom — 

Home of heavenly beauty, 'yond the darksome tomb ; 

There they walk in glory, with the angels pure. 

With their loving Saviour evermore secure. 

There we, also, hasten fast as time can roll. 

For unto its birth-place must return each soul. 

Thus not strange that often, when the dark hours come. 

Do we sigh, "Dear Father, call us to that Home." 

But we will be patient, "trusting in Him" still, 

For each gracious promise He will yet fulfill — 

Strengthened by our blessings many, which are given 

As bright gleams — faint pictures of the bliss of Heaven, 

Striving to be useful, striving to overcome 

Sins, temptations, evils, which surround this home — 

Knowing that our sorrows we have need to bear. 

Ere we can be worthy that dear Home to share — 

Let us still be cheerful, while we longer stay, 

Learning life's great lessons scattered by the way. 

Thus we'll wait the summons which some day shall come, 

"Leave, my child, your earthly for your heavenly Home." 



248 OTHER POEMS. 



EVENTIDE. 

Like a rich dream the day has flown 

Swiftly across the summer sky, 
And on the sunset^s crimson throne 

Has breathed to earth her farewell sigh. 
Now come the purple twilight hours, 

To gem with stars the brow of night, 
And whisper o'er the weeping flowers, 

"At evening time there shall be light." 

O, thus when sorrow's night shuts down 

Upon some bright and joyous day — 
When 1 must wear some "thorny crown,"" 

Or clouds above my pathway stay ; 
May holy faith within my soul 

Call out her stars, divinely bright. 
And whisper o'er hope's grieving flowers, 

"At evening time there shall be light." 

And as the moon her silver car 

Hangs o'er the eastern hills again, 
Its calm, sweet rays dispensing there, 

O'er all of Nature's wide domain, 
So may the radiance of God's love 

Pervade this throbbing heart of mine. 
Till I behold each cloud above 

Work out for me some good divine. 



OTHER POEMS. 249 

'Tis not when sunshine floods the skies 

Our time for rest is given ; 
'Tis only thro' night's starry eyes 

We see the most of Heaven ; 
And thus the soul must gather streno-th, 

And trust, from sorrow's night, 
And adverse winds, to find at length 

Its "evening time'" of heavenly light. 

So, in each trial of my life. 

Thy chastening hand, O God, will be 
Leading my spirit thro' the strife. 

Nearer its home, and love, and Thee ; 
And when my sunset hour draws near, 

O, may the evening glow with light, 
Shining from Heaven, all sweet and clear. 

To guide me thro' death's solemn nicrht ! 




16 



250 OTHER POEMS. 



OCTOBER. 

September days, with mellow sunshine laden, 

Spread their bright wings above the verdant plain, 
And woodland boughs soon caught their glorious shading, 

In gold and purple, brown and crimson stains. 
She came with requiem lays for summer ended. 

And sang them o'er the ripened corn. 
And welcome notes for autumn's presence blended 

With sweetest concord in her harvest song. 

But she has flown ; and now, with footsteps sober. 

And robe as brilliant as a gipsjtfy queen's. 
Thou comest forth, O solemn-browed October, 

To take thy reign o'er Nature's scenes ! 
And, not unmindful of the unfinished poem 

September left beside Time's stream, 
Decay, decay in deeper language glowing, 

Thou write'st on every spray and leaf of green. 

We gladly greet thee, heart and spirit open 

To catch th' instruction thou wilt surely bring. 
When sunshine bathes the earth with smiles unbroken, 

Or when thy skies in tears are sorrowing. 
For oft thou'lt wear the hood of rain-clouds 

Drawn closely o'er thy forehead pale. 
Yet fairer skies will blot their sad remembrance, 

As right o'er wrong shall finally prevail. 



OTHER POEMS. 25 I 

Thy bright and gloomy days, and fading glory, 

Portray life's mutability on earth — 
Teach us how evanescent, and how transitory, 

The joy and beauty linked with mortal birth ! 
But mingling with these tho'ts of pain and sorrow 

Are happier ones, for thanks to God are due — 
He has not failed to give reward for labor, 

And lol a plenteous harvest thou hast bro't to view. 




252 



OTHER POEMS. 



AX EXTRACT. 
From a Memorial Poem. 

Honored and loved he passed away. 
On towards the heavenly morrow : 

Where God's own glor} pours the da} 
Effulgent, bright, and free from sorrow 

Yet sad the home where loving ones 
Now mourn their vanished treasure — 

Ah I who shall fill the aching void ? 
Ah ! who its depths can measure ? 

"Tis only He, who formed the heart 

With all its fond affection. 
Can bid the anguish-waves depart. 

And soothe their recollection. 

He can. He will, for "He is good," 
His kindness "faileth never" — 

Thro" grief He makes us earn the food 
That strengtheneth forever. 

Earth is the cradle of the soul 

Where pain and joy }-ield sweetness. 
But its best energies cannot unfold 
Here to a full completeness. 



OTHER POEMS. 253 

So death sets free the prisoned wings. 

And guides to fields yet higher. 
Where nobler work, and brighter things. 

Its holiest powers inspire. 

Then not too deeply should we grieve 

When friends are called before us. 
Perhaps their spirits still may be 

Permitted to watch o'er us. 

And God has taken them away 

To make our faith grow stronger — 
To open springs of joy more clear 

Than if they tarried longer. 

"Tis not in Jesus' life alone 

We find the revelation 
Of an unchanging Father's love, 

For us and all creation ; 



But in his death, his suti'ering-. 
We learn the truth all glorious. 

That sorrow make us heirs with Him 
To life, o'er death victorious. 

And every friend He calleth up. 
Thro' that bright shining portal. 

Sends back new promises to us 
Of love and joys immortal. 

Then, mourning friends, be trustful still, 

The dove of consolation 
Will surely come, your souls to fill 

With holy resignation. 



254 OTHER POEMS. 

I know full well the task is hard, 
And bitter is the learning, 

But there's a recompense insured 
For all this tender yearning. 

Each sigh will have a heavenly worth. 
And all these sacred tears 

Will nourish buds to blossom forth 
In the eternal years. 

And when your pilgrimage is o'er — 
When Faith's reward is given — 

You'll meet him there, to part no more. 
In the Spirit's home-land — Heaven. 



OTHER POEMS. 255 



THE WANING YEAR. 

With snowy shuttle, lo! December weaves, 
To-day the year's bride-raiment, ere she breathes 
To earth her farewell benediction breath, 
And goes to meet her waiting bridegroom — Death. 
And tho'ts turn back with sad and serious air, 
To life's eventful poem, reading there 
Each stanza written since the year began 
To bring her precious gifts from God to man. 

From the Great Heart of boundless Love divine. 
Thou wast called forth to mark the hours of Time, 
O, Waning Year! and with a welcome song 
Earth's children hailed thee, at thy first day's dawn, 
For myriad hopes sprang into birth with thee — 
Say, shall thy close their glad fruition see ? 
Or must they fade like withered buds, and fall, 
Crushed to the dust by disappointment's thrall? 

Stern winter guarded well thine infant hours, 

And held thee captive long, in snow-wreathed bowers, 

For all thy cradle dreams he rocked with storms. 

Preventing thus, in various ways and forms. 

The advent of thy milder guardian, spring. 

Who bro't for thee her flowerv offering: ; 

With April smiles and tears she came at last. 

And won thee from his cold and icy clasp. 



256 OTHER POEMS. 

Then for thy tender feet, so fair and young, 
A verdant carpet o"er the earth she flung ; 
Set with bright patterns, for the fragrant flowers 
liurst into bloom in all the sunnv bowers : 
While joyous melodies of bird and streams 
Thrilled on the air, and glorified thy dreams 
Thro' childhood days : for swift they sped away, 
Bearing thee forward on thy destined way. 

Then summer came with even brighter hours, 
And wove thee fairer crowns of buds and flowers ; 
For beauty, working under Nature's screen. 
Painted with richer light each sylvan scene ; 
And morn and evening's variegated skies 
Caught from her brush their gold and purple dyes. 
While gems of silver marked her path at night. 
When shone the stars or Luna's holy light. 

But time passed on ; and o'er the sultry plain. 
In glowing beauty waved the ripened grain, 
Till autumn to the harvest came once more, 
To reap and gather from the frost-king hoar ; 
And in the human heart awaken there 
An answering tone of sympathy ; for where 
We viewed the falling leaves and faded flowers 
We read their nature was a type of ours. 

That, even frail and perishing as they, 
We, too, must feel the blight of stern decay — 
We, too, must have our lonely autumn hours 
Of withered hopes and blighted human flowers. 



OTHER POEMS. 257 

But now the autumn months have come and gone, 
And thou, O, Waning Year! art hastening on, 
To rest with all thy sister years at last. 
Within the mighty tomi) of ages past. 

And if the vanished days in Nature's psalm 
Have waked no sound to mar its peaceful calm. 
What myriad changes — both of sad and bright — 
In Life's great song have chronicled thy flight. 
Changes whose records now are left enrolled 
Deep on the mystic tablet of the soul. 
To be erased not by long coming years, 
Tho' blessed with joys, or dimmed with bitter tears. 

How different have become, since thy first light. 
The present hopes and prospects, dark or bright, 
Of many dwellers on this beauteous earth — 
To all came hours of gladness and its dearth ; 
To some the long sought praise of earthly fame — 
With all its cheer — its laureled honors came, 
While others, and perhaps with hearts as warm, 
Found cold desertion, sorrow, grief and scorn. 

The ease and luxuries of wealth for some ; 
While poverty and woe have been the doom. 
Perchance, of many more ; for fortune's gifts 
Have varied been all round, like welcome rifts 
Along a cloudy sky. To many a cheek 
And languid frame, with illness faint and weak, 
Came back the rosy glow, the elastic tread. 
That spake the language sweet — disease had fled. 



258 OTHER POEMS. 

And those who hailed thy coming, free from pain, 

With life and vigor bounding in each vein, 

While every chamber of the secret soul 

Was blest with joy's supreme control — 

Was radiant with aftection's holy light — 

With sunny dreams and visions of delight — 

On weary, fevered couches now lie low, 

And health on earth again they may not know. 

Then, too, the changes of the "Reaper," Death, 
Who sets his seal and breathes his icy breath 
Upon the beaming eye, the soul-enkindled face. 
The lofty brow, whereon we e^er could trace 
Immortal tho't ; and with a kindly hand 
Unlock the gateway of that Summer Land, 
Where dwell the beautiful, redeemed and pure, 
From earthly stain forevermore secure. 

Unheeding fond affection's tear or prayer, 
From every rank in life he's claimed a share ; 
Old age, with trembling step and whitened locks. 
And active manhood, rich with cultured tho't. 
Youth, infancy and childhood, sweet and fair — 
In every town how many a void, or vacant chair! 
Some breathed 'mid treasured friends their farewell sigh. 
And others, far from home, on battle-fields must die. 

For many a spirit, glowing with the might 
Of aspirations deep for truth and right. 
With ardent longings after mental worth. 
And all the moral excellence of earth, 



OTHER POEMS. 259 

That nobly answered in our country's hour of need. 
With heart to dare, to suffer, and to bleed. 
Has won that rest whose slumbers wake no more 
To sound of bugle or the cannon's roar. 

Most sad the changes which this "cruel war" 
Has spread o'er all our Land, both near and far. 
Filling with saddened tho'ts its once bright homes. 
For o'er our Nation's wound each true heart mourns. 
And still the contest lasts. O, Heavenly Friend! 
When will this grievous, sad *Rebellion end? 
When will its strife and desolation cease, 
And our loved Union glow again with peace? 

Would that such morn might break upon thy close, 
O, Waning Year! 'twould sweeten thy repose 
In dark oblivion's night, whose shades ere long 
Will draw thee to the things that "now are gone."' 
Yet ere we breathe to thee our last farewell, 
And close the volume of thy records, it is well 
To list the solemn sentinel within, 
Which of our souls makes gentle questioning. 

Where is the harvest which the mind should claim? 
If all the hours have not been spent in vain — 
What have we earned of truth's intrinsic ore ? 
What growth in virtue, or in wisdom's lore? 
Have we the pearl of true enjoyment found. 
By doing good and blessing those around 
Our daily paths ? Has love of duty been 
The scale we've weighed our acts and motives in ? 

* Written during the Civil War. 



26o OTHER POEMS. 

Say, were we cheerhil thro" oiir hours of care. 
Patient our "Fathers will" to do, or bear? 
And trustful still, ^vhen sorrow was our guest. 
Or grateful when with joy our path was blest? 
Have harsh or idle words, or unjust deeds 
Of ours, caused other '•aching hearts" to bleed? 
Or. if some erring one has done us wrong. 
Had we the charity, forgiving, suffering long? 

Thus questions conscience. And as memory flies 
Back o'er the past, the failings that she spies 
Bid us make neu.v resolves for future horn's. 
And strive, with purpose pure, and all our powers. 
To keep them sacred. O, let sin and pride 
From all our hearts be ever laid aside : 
Let goodness, holy faith, and truth and right 
Be gems we seek for, with one mind and might ! 

Let songs of hope, and words of love and cheer. 
Flow from our lips forever, here 
Let earnest prayer, and anthems rich with praise. 
Rise from our hearts to God, who guides our ways I 
Then for our trials strengthened we shall be — 
From each temptation have the will to flee ; 
And, faithful in our labors, we shall find 
A sweet reward — tranquility of mind. 

While our experience of the days gone by 
Shall make the harvest of the year, now nigh. 
Exceed, by far exceed, the Old one past. 
Enriching us with higher worth, to last 



OTHER POEMS. 26 1 

Beyond time's shore, and leave a light behind. 
If we but use it right, to bless mankind. 
So may our lives with pure endeavors shine. 
As Home we journey to the heavenly clime. 
Where comes no sound of war, or sin, or tears. 
Or anv changes sad of Waning Years. 




262 OTHER POEMS. 



MY COUSIN'S PHOTOGRAPH. 

It is a sweet and winning face 

I love to gaze upon. 
And yet I deem it not so fair 

As hers for whom 'twas drawn ; 
But it is like our Mary, flown 

Beyond this earthly clime ; 
And deep the joy my heart doth own, 

To call this picture mine. 

'Twas thus she wore her dark brown hair. 

In girlhood's happy days ; 
And round her blue-veined brow, all fair, 

It lay in shining waves. 
And thus her eyes, so "darkly blue,"' 

Their kind expression claim. 
They only lack her living soul 

To make them all the same. 

How natural, too. the rounded cheek. 

And on the lips the while 
Half lingers, with attraction sweet, 

Her dear familiar smile ; 
Her face was one which wore the seal 

Of pure and gentle tho't. 
And when she spake each feature shone 

With a new beauty fraught. 



OTHER POEMS. 263 

Dear shadow of her former self, 
What magic power is thine I 

Thou bringest from the vanished past 

The joys that once were mine ; 
And as the fragrance of the rose 

Remains when bloom is o'er, 
So round my spirit softly glows 

Their holv lisfht once more. 



''a' 



Again I feel her presence near — 

The pressure of her hand — 
Her quiet tones fall on my ear 

Like music, low and bland. 
Thus have I shared, in by-gone hours. 

Her love and counsel true. 
And each has blest me, as to flowers 

A blessing proves the dew. 

'Tis wrong to mourn her, yet the tears 

Will oft in silence fall, 
As memory from departed years 

Doth all her worth recall ; 
For her short life was one rich song 

Of duty, truth and love ; 
Her death, so bright with faith, the dawn 

Of endless joys above. 

O, blest assurance I in that home 

Where angel Mary dwells. 
There comes no sound of sorrow's tone. 

Or any sad farewells. 



264 OTHER POEMS. 

And in my Father's own good time — 

It may be near at hand — 
He will recall this soul of mine 

To that all beauteous Land. 

And with those dear ones, earlier flown 

From earthly pain and care, 
ril meet again the prototype 

Of this loved picture there. 
I cannot doubt this cheering hope — 

It seems God's voice to me ; 
O, Heavenly Friend! Thou gavest love. 

And all it asks I trust with Thee. 



OTHER POEMS. 265 



THE BRIGHTER MORROW. 

All day long the sky's been shaded 
With the curtain of the storm, 

While the star-shaped snowflakes falling, 
Made the hours seem very long. 

But the evening's quiet splendor 
Promises a brighter dawn. 

O, how oft along life's journey, 

Where, by hopes and memory's powers, 
Past and future ravs are blending:. 

Ever with the present hours. 
Look we for a brighter morrow, 

'Yond the night-cloud's chilling showers. 

When the days are sad and gloomy. 
With some sorrow hovering nigh. 

Comes there not adown the twilight. 
Answer to our weary sigh .? 

"Weep not, for a brighter morrow 
Soon will span thy darkened sky." 

Oft deceiving, still enticing 
Hope, beyond the setting sun, 

Points us onward, ever onward. 
To those brighter days to come ; 

Be not faithless, O, vain mortal — 
God is good to every one. 



17 



266 OTHER POEMS. 

Thus, with shade and sunbeams mingling, 

On we hasten to the shore 
Of that bright, that heavenly morrow, 

Where all sorrow will be o'er : 
And the joys of life immortal 

Shall be ours forevermore. 



OTHER POEMS. 267 



A WINTER EVENING'S DREAM. 

With snow and ice the winter King 

Has clothed my native hills and vales ; 
And thro' the day the chill north winds 

Have sung weird songs in noisy gales. 
But when the sunset queen appeared, 

With crimson flags to shroud the day, 
As if her beauteous reign they feared, 

They quickly sighed themselves away. 

And now the night, all cold and pale, 

Draws on her hood of darkest blue. 
Drops down her "star-embroidered veil," 

And hides the day-scenes from my view. 
Inside is warmth and genial light, 

For memory's fingers press the keys 
Of vanished hours, once fair and bright, 

And wondrous melody they breathe. 

Back on the hillsides of the past. 

The friends of by-gone days appear ; 
Again to give me heart- warm grasp, 

And bring affection's tribute here. 
Again we share our joys and cares, 

In school-day hours, long past away, 
Plan out ambition's lofty stairs — 

Hope pointing up the shining way. 



268 OTHER POEMS. 

O, friends beloved! where are ye now? 

Where do your Hfe streams onward glide ? 
From Maine to California's shore, 

I know your homes are scattered wide. 
God bless yon all — where'er you roam — 

My heart yet holds your memories sweet, 
Love claims you still, her very own, 

Tho' only thus in dreams we meet. 

The faUing tears attest the worth 

Of those, from out our chosen band. 
Who dwell no more in homes of earth — 

Their angels rove the Summer Land. 
But faith, with gentle words and tone, 

Takes from our grief its deepest pain, 
We, too, are hastening to that Home, 

Where loved ones all shall meet again. 

Within -my dream, some friends are true 
To-night, as best of friends could be ; 
O, may life's honey, ever new. 

Be theirs for what they've been to me ! 
And some there are whose hearts are cold, 
' For time has chilled their tenderness, 
Or changed it ; but I do not hold 
For them one tho"t of bitterness. 

I know 'tis well ! for purpose good 

God shuts their hearts with ice and snow, 

To keep more warm affection's root. 

To blossom forth in Spring-time's glow ; 



OTHER POEMS. 269 

The Spring-time of our Heavenly Home ; 

Where not one blighted bud shall be 
In all the wreath Love claims her own, 

To wear thro' all eternity. 

And there, with fragrance sweeter far. 

And richer, brighter will they be. 
For all life's winter storms that bar, 

Or seem to close their hearts to me. 
So not one grieving tho't shall come 

To mar the sweetness of my dream, 
Which from the past new light has won, 

While Heaven sends down a radiant beam. 



2/0 OTHER POEMS. 



ROBIN'S CAROL. 

Hark, the robin's grateful song, 
Sweetly singing — "Winter's gone. 
Spring has come — be glad of heart, 
Raise a song where'er thou art ! 

Spring has come, with welcome showers, 
Bursting buds, and fragrant flowers. 
Sweet south winds, and balmy airs, 
To give us joy and banish cares - 

Spring has come, I've work to do, 
I must build a nest anew — 
O, how happy I shall be. 
Working, singing in my glee !" 

Thus the robin trills her song, 
And the heart, from winter's thong 
Loosed, responds and questions, too, 
"Have not I spring-work to do?" 

Is there not a garden rare. 
In the mind that waits my care? 
To be ploughed and ready made. 
With the hoe, the rake and spade? 

Killing out each root of pride, 

And each sprout where sin might hide ? 



OTHER POEMS. VJ^ 



Yes! and I must up and do, 
Sowing, planting seed anew, 

If I would a harvest gain 
Of God's precious, golden grain, 
For my soul to feed on here, 
Make it meet for heavenly sphere. 

Some must sow in pain and tears. 
But when reaping time appears, 
Joy shall fill their hearts again — 
Tearful sowings are not vain. 

But 'tis well to imitate. 
High or low be our estate, 
Robin's cheer in all we do, 
Sing and work and worship, too. 




272 OTHER POEMS. 



VIOLET MAY. 

She was not "fairest of the fair/'' 

That critic's eye might chance to see ; 
She was not dowered with genius rare, 

But she was all the world to me. 
A nameless charm in all her ways, 

A kindly tho't for all, each day, 
Gave worth more dear than beauty's grace. 

To her, my bride, sweet Violet May. 

Three blessed years she filled my home 

With love's bright sunshine, pure and fair. 
Kept in my heart a music tone 

That sweetened all my daily care. 
But when the spring, with gracious hand. 

Fringed hills and vales and trees with green. 
Shook sunny blossoms o'er the land, 

She went from me, my winsome Queen. 

The treacherous bridge that spanned the creek. 

Made high with melted snow and rain, 
Sank with her weight, and all too weak 

The aid that to her struggles came. 
The cold, cold water stole her breath. 

And chilled her heart's pulsation free. 
Left on her lips the kiss of death, 

And darkened all the world to me. 



OTHER POEMS. 273 

O, cruel waves! O, cruel hour! 

That wooed her from her home that day : 
She went, all bright with life's rich dower, 

But evening bro't her lifeless clay. 
The full, round cheek retained the flush 

Of health she wore at morning time — 
But closed the eyes, as if but hushed 

In sleep the soul I dreamed was mine. 

And O, her cold, damp brow, and ringlets wet — 

My cries of grief broke not the spell 
That held my darling Violet — 

She ne'er would wake my grief to quell. 
So all the earth was full of gloom, 

And all the heavens were black as night — 
My friends were naught — the Spring's rich bloom 

Was mocking to my tortured sight. 

Beneath the flowers whose name she bore 

They laid her down, among the dead ; 
The world surged onward as before, 

But I could not be comforted. 
For she was all my joy, my light. 

My soul's dear idol. Now bereft 
Of her what else could give delight ? 

Naught, naught in all the earth was left! 

And so the summer hours came on, 

The roses bloomed and passed from view, 

Ere love, baptised in sorrow's font. 
Was purified in heavenly dew. 



274 OTHER POEMS. 

And then 1 learned for purpose good 
God took her from my sight away, 

To raise my soul's low attitude 

To heights that wear immortal day. 

I know she lives and loves me there — 

All Nature's voices tell me this — 
I feel that she is happier far 

Than even my deepest tho't of bliss. 
Sweeter than any speech, I feel 

Her soul's communion with my own. 
In all my work, my woe, my weal, 

I'm conscious 1 am not alone. 

She comforts me. She teaches me 

In silence, wondrous, heavenly lore, 
And tho' her form I cannot see 

Our souls are nearer than before. 
Blest in her joy, with larger love 

For God and man, I wait the day 
When He shall call my soul above, 

To join my darling Violet May. 




OTHER POEMS. 275 



BEREFT. 

Sunset o'er the mountains, veiled with deepest blue. 

Spreads her radiant curtain widely to the view ; 

Richest hues of crimson, brilliant hues of gold. 

Mingle in and brighten every shining fold ; 

While the mist-like glory, floating softly down, 

O'er the face of Nature wearing summer's crown. 

Rests upon the meadows, rich with clover blooms, 

And upon the maples, thick with leafy plumes ; 

Rests upon the hill-tops, and each object near 

The homestead of my childhood ; with light as pure and clear. 

With smiles as fair and golden, as in days of yore, 

When I've watched the sunset summer eves before. 

But to-night there's sadness brooding o'er my soul, 
For my heart is tearful, under grief's control ; 
Other sunset visions will before me rise — 
Sadder sunset visions — closing of two lives, 
Unto me the dearest all on earth beside — 
How can I be cheerful now that they have died ! 
Still I feel the sorrow of that April day. 
When my angel mother passed from earth away — 
True, her life was darkened with disease and pain, 
Yet well I remember all her worth the same. 
Dearer, O, far dearer, that she suffered so — 
And 'twas bitter anguish thus to let her go. 



276 OTHER POEMS. 

Did we weep too sadly, that so soon again 
Death within our dwelling must assert his reign? 
Dark to us the moment, when few weeks had flown, 
Called he for our father, claimed him for his own. 
But to hi7)i no shadow on death's valley lay, 
For his faith grew stronger ; and its holy ray 
Made all bright the pathway to the promised land, 
Where to full perfection all souls shall expand. 
Calm, and without murmur, waited he release. 
Trusting God^s rich mercy, all within was peace. 

"Happy, 1 am happy" spake his white lips then, 
•'Soon I'll join our lost ones, neVr to part again." 
One bright glance he gave us — lingering glance of love- 
Then the dear eyes closing, he had soared above. 
O, how sad to open thus so soon the grave. 
Where a day so lately mother's form was laid. 
But since He, the Giver, had our prayers denied, 
Well it was to lay them gently, side by side ; 
Then to bow our spirits humbly. Lord, to Thee, 
Praying resignation to thy stern decree. 

O, thou grave mysterious! what were life the worth! 
What were all the pleasures that we have on earth, 
If we felt the loved ones thou dost from us hide 
Never more would waken — had forever died ? 
But, O, joy transporting, God to us has given, 
Thro' our blessed Saviour, glances of that Heaven 
Unto which thou leadest : and, tho' darkness here, 
Shrouds this side thy portal, let us never fear ! 



OTHER POEMS. 277 

Jesus, o'er thy precincts, dark with shades of night, 
Hung his glorious mantle of unfading light. 
For his resurrection swept away the gloom — 
Death is but the gateway to immortal bloom. 

Thus, O, dearest parents! tho' we are bereft 
Of your cheer and counsel, and your tenderness — 
Tho' we can but mourn you hourly, day and eve — 
Love must have her moments o'er her loss to grieve — 
Tho' we listen vainly for your footsteps near, 
And the heart oft yearneth for your voices dear, 
Tho' the house is lonely, and each silent room 
Seems to wear a shadow of the deepest gloom, 
Tho' your vacant places thrill our hearts with pain. 
And the home you cherished seemeth not the same. 
Still we will not murmur, nor yet hopeless mourn. 
Nor amid our sorrow feel we are alone. 

For we know that joyful now your spirits are 

Tenderly united, free from every care. 

In that Home of gladness o'er the shore of time. 

Where are "many mansions'" in God's House divine. 

Passed from earthly darkness, there the heavenly dawn 

Of eternal sunshine fills your souls with song. 

While the God who chastens us is ever near. 

And His holy comfort checks the falling tear ; 

For on His kind bosom still He bids us lean, 

Till peace's hallowing radiance on our souls shall beam. 

Every new affliction weaves within the chain 
Brighter links to draw us back to Him again ; 



278 OTHER POEMS. 

And on His dear promise trusting, we will rest — 
"He will be a Father to the fatherless." 
While from this rich fountain of exhaustless love, 
Drink we consolation as we onward move ; 
O, may we be faithful to life's duties given ; 
O, may we be cheerful, tho' fond ties are riven! 
And with faith uplifted, seek that higher worth, 
Jesus so exemplified while He was on earth. 

So that you, dear Parents, from your home above. 
May look down and bless us with your smiles of love. 
While your memories sacred in our hearts shall shine. 
Like a star of brightness, shedding rays divine 
O'er our pathways ever, till each beam there given 
Shall still draw our spirits near, more near to Heaven. 
And when o'er death's river sounds our call to "come," 
We will haste to greet you in that glorious Home, 
Where no sunset vision shall give rise to tears, 
Where no separation marks the countless years : 
Where no ties are broken, but all souls are blest. 
For not thei-e is spoken that sad word Bereft. 




OTHER POEMS. 279 



THOTS OF THE SEASON. 

The summer days ! The summer days ! 

They come to us once more, 
With all the light and beauty 

They bro't in "days of yore.'- 
The sun shines forth as brightly. 

The flowerets bloom as fair. 
And notes as full of gladness 

Are thrilling on the air. 

They bring ten thousand blessings 

From God's all-gracious hand, 
Who clothes the hills and meadows 

With bloom, from land to land. 
Ten thousand priceless blessings, 

And there's for each a share ; 
Cast from the heart distrust and gloom, 

And let joy enter there. 

What tho' the cloud will gather. 

And trials rise in sight — 
The darkest hours come ever 

Before the dawning light : 
And if we meet these trials 

With firm and trusting eye, 
They all will turn to golden beams, 

To light our future sky. 



28o OTHER POEMS. 

Then let us never falter, 

And, as the days glide on, 
Live every hour in such a way 

That when they all are gone — 
When comes the time of harvest — 

The harvest of true worth — 
Each soul may be far richer 

Than before this summer's birth. 

Rich with the fragrant memories 

Of good and worthy deeds, 
Of tho'ts all pure, that in the heart 

Kept out obnoxious weeds ; 
Advanced in moral excellence. 

More free from sin's dark thrall. 
Blest with a purer love for God, 

And his dear children all. 

Not sad with vain regrettings. 

For duties laid aside. 
For sin and wrong committed — 

Truth's angel not our guide — 
Or selfish in our hours of joy, 

Or cold with haughty pride, 
No kindly sympathy we gave 

The sorrowing at our side. 

But may to each the heavenly peace 
And joy-fraught whispers come. 

That rise up from sweet consciousness 
Of duties all well done. 



OTHER POEMS. 

Then to our spirit's gaze the smiles 

Approving shall be given 
Of those, our loved, who joyful rove 

The Summer Land of Heaven. 



281 




282 OTHER POEMS. 



THE SILENT LAND. 

The tho't of Death's cold Silent Land — 

It Cometh when it will ; 
Sometimes when sorrow grieves my heart, 

And when it owns joy's thrill ! 
Why should I drive the thought away, 

Tho' oft it brings a gloom ? 
When musing of the dampness 

And darkness of the tomb? 

How do I know how near my steps 

Are drawing to its close, 
This short and varied pilgrimage. 

That ends in Death's repose ? 
How do I know, how many hours 

Divide me from the strand 
Of that unknown, unsounded sea, 

Bordering the Silent Land ? 

This world is very beautiful, 

Too beautiful, I sometimes fear, 
It has so many charms to bind 

My soul's affections here. 
So much of brightness Nature spreads 

Before my raptured gaze. 
So much of gladness 'neath the sky. 

Winning my love and praise. 



OTHER POEMS. 283 

So many friends I still have left, 

Tho' some have "gone before," 
So many thousand blessings 

That I cannot count them o'er. 
'Tis true, there's many a cloudy morn, 

And many a gloomy eve. 
And time doth oft a darkened shade 

Within life's texture weave. 

'Tis true that oft our sweetest songs 

Swell with a minor strain, 
And fast upon our present joys 

Come hours of grief and pain ; 
But yet as true it is, that those 

Who most of sorrow know 
Can best appreciate joy ; so after bliss 

Grief does to them bestow. 

'Tis night that gives the magic charm 

Unto the morning light, 
And sorrow makes our joyful hours, 

By contrast, still more bright. 
And thus, with all its mysteries — 

Or call them what you will, 
This life of change — vicissitudes — 

I love — I love it still. 

And tho' immortal life beyond. 

Is brighter to faith's eye, 
I cannot say I would depart — 

I do not wish to die. 



284 OTHER POEMS. 

But wish of mine could never turn 
Death's arrow, which must come : 

Therefore, I'd have the tho"t of it 
A bright and pleasant one. 

So, should it come with sudden haste, 

Or come with warning long, 
Submissive I could meet that Will 

Which doeth nothing wrong. 
Believing, as I must believe. 

That God, whose tender care 
Has watched my every step on earth, 

Will not forsake me there. 

O, no. His love will light the tomb 

With more than mortal ray. 
And drive my fears — if fears I have — 

Forevermore away. 
That Changeless Love by Christ revealed, 

To draw all souls to Him, 
Will grant to me the "victory," 

And take from Death its "sting." 



OTHER POEMS. 285 



OUR WAY. 

Commit thy ways unto the Lord ; trust also in Him, and He shall bring 
it to pass. Ps. XXXVn,5. 

When clouds of gloom and darkness rise, 
And shroud the present's sunny skies — 

When hope no longer brings 
Before us visions bright and fair, 
Of future days for us to share 

'Neath Joys unfolded wings — 

When not one star is peering out. 
To light our way — we stand in doubt, 

Frail mortals of the dust ; 
Then sometimes softly we repeat 
The Psalmists's words, so soothing sweet, 

And then if we caii trust ; 

Oh, blessed words ! the storm is stilled, 
With heavenly peace our hearts are filled. 

The stars begin to shine ; 
And thro' the clouds their light we find 
Steals in upon the darkened mind, 

Recalling hope to her fair shrine. 

All this, if we can trust, and mo7'e^ 
Life seems far brighter than before ; 



286 OTHER POEMS. 

Its cares and duties glow 
With richer charms, till now unseen, 
While vexing queries catch truth's beam, 

Tho' this we know ; 

We live to see our hopes decay. 
Our dear ones fading day by day, 

And feel we cannot call 
Again health's rose, or reason's light ; 
We can but weep the bitter blight, 

For we are powerless all. 

We live to mourn our treasures dead, 
Our brightest dreams the soonest fled — 

We live to sorrow — but, 
Too numerous far for me to tell. 
The griefs earth's dwellers know full well, 

And all for what ? 

Ah ! yes, for what? Why is it so. 
The bitter with the sweet must flow ? 

God cannot be unkind ! 
And all our trials are by Him 
Designed to cleanse our souls from sin. 

The sparkling gold to find. 

The means to make us grateful here, 
For blessings sent from year to year ; 

For many a sunny day, 
His angels cheer us, and the song 
Of joyous hearts is borne along, 

From pilgrims on their way. 



OTHER POEMS. 287 

The means to teach us piety, 
And Christian love and charity, 

Like Him, who did descend — 
Our glorious Teacher, Master, kind. 
Who bore all grief, that we might find 

In Him a constant friend. 

The means by which God brings our "ways,"" 
Up to that world of light and praise. 

Where all is peace and love ; 
The means to make our souls as pure 
As gold refined ; then worthy sure 

To dwell with Him above. 

O, Thou, our Father, grant the prayer 
Thro' all life's hours of joy and care. 

Help us in truth to say. 
Come what there may, "Thy will be done,"' 
From morn till eve, from sun to sun 

W"e trust to Thee "our way!" 




OTHER POEMS. 



A FRAGMENT. 

The day has passed in glory 

Adown the western sky, 
The twilight falling slowly — 

That too has flitted by. 

And night's soft wings, like angel's — 

So pure and cool are they — 
Around the earth are folded, 

To chase our cares away. 

Hushed is each sound discordant, 

Each tone of noisy mirth, 
While sleep her gentle mission 

Performs about the earth. 

But the murmur of the river, 

In the valley just below — 
Where the foam-flowers dance and quiver, 

As the wavelets onward flow, 

And the night winds gentle singing. 
Moving green boughs to and fro, 

Seem to bring me strains of music 
From bright hours of long ago. 

And I list them by my window. 

Thro' which comes the moonlight's beam, 



OTHER POEMS. 289 

Till unto my soul come whispers 
Calling me to rest and dream. 

And ril heed the welcome summons, 
Tho' so fair Night's beauty glows ; 

Yet ere in grateful slumbers 
My weary eyes shall close. ^ 

Let tho't go upward soaring 

On the "still white wings'' of prayer, 

With praise and thanks imploring 
Once more my Father's care. 



290 OTHER POEMS. 



DAY DREAMS. 

The earth is fair with summer's bloom, 
The breeze is rich with flowers' perfume, 
The day is bright with golden beams, 
I'll make it blest with sunny dreams, 
Of that loved spot, my childhood's home. 
Where I so many joys have known. 

Long from its door my steps have roved, 
Till time thro' many a month hath moved ; 
But often tho't, on viewless car. 
As thus to-day, has wandered there, 
Finding, as now, that absence flings 
New radiance o'er it from her wings. 

A stranger passing would not see 
The beauty which it has for me ; 
For, O, there hangs a rainbow charm 
Around the house, about the farm. 
And every object in the scene 
Like old familiar friends doth seem. 

The wood that bounds the eastern sky. 
The sloping hills that near it lie, 
The meadow rich with waving grain. 
And tassled maize, appears the same 
As when a child I wandered there, 
For berries wild or blossoms fair. 



OTHER POEMS. 29! 

And, too, the orchard's spreading shade — 
How many a joyous hour Tve played 
Beneath some favorite christened tree, 
With sisters near in age to me ; 
While thro' the boughs the sunlight came. 
In stolen gleams, to spy the game. 

And here, some pleasant book I read 

Full oft, or, pausing, dreamed instead ; 

For then, as now, I loved right well 

To weave imagination's spell ; 

While bird and breeze, with music's power, 

Lent new enchantment to the hour. 

Across the road the maples stand — 
Thrice dear, because my father's hand 
Planted them there ; and just between, 
The garden, walled around, is seen ; 
Sacred in days by-gone its dowers 
Of summer fruit and blushing flowers. 

The field of clover lies beyond. 
And o'er the hill the brook and pond. 
Beside which, 'neath the elm tree's shade, 
A little moss-grown well is laid ; 
There often on our way from school, 
We rested in their shadows cool. 

Ah, childhood joys ! you passed away, 
Nor did I wish your flight to stay ; 
But now I find 'tis sweet to turn 
Back to the past, where bright you burn 



292 OTHER POEMS. 

On memory's altar, and receive 

The fragrant incense that you breathe. 

It soothes my heart, which still must cling 
With fond affection to each thing 
Around that dearly cherished home, 
Tho' long and far my steps may roam ; 
But now in dreams I come once more, 
And pause beside its hallowed door. 

Here words of greeting have been spoken. 
While hands were clasped in friendly token ; 
Here, too, received some last caress — 
Some parting sigh, or farewell kiss, 
From lips of those Pll meet no more 
This side "Our Heavenly Father''s door." 

Here, too, how oft, at close of day, 
Tve watched the sunset fade away 
From the far mountain's purple crest ; 
And here the twilight hours were blest 
With song and converse ; sisters dear 
Joining with mine their voices clear. 

And here again doth Katie come — 
For she is matron now, at home — 
To greet me with a warm embrace, 
A thousand welcomes in her face ; 
While, like a bird-note, sweet and clear. 
My little nephew's laugh I hear. 



OTHER POEMS. 293 

I enter, and each well-known room 
Recalls the treasures of the tomb — 
Dear mother, with her silvered hair. 
And tho'tful face, once O so fair. 
And sisters lost, and father, too. 
Again they meet my longing view. 

And others, till the circle sweet — 
Each member here — is all complete ; 
Then, O what bliss, to live once more 
The sacred hours of days of yore ! 
Thrice blessed dream ! for angel hands 
Are linked with mine thro' memory bands ! 

O, home beloved! it may not be 

Again my joy thy walls to see I 

Uncertain is this vapor breath, 

And soon may come thy summons, death ! 

Altho' I love this changeful life. 

With varying joy and sorrow rife, 

I know its changing hopes and fears. 
Its light and shade, its smiles and tears. 
Are but the prelude to a song 
Of glorious concord, which, ere long, 
We all shall sing on that blest shore. 
Where heavenly joy reigns evermore. 

Sweet home above ! O, sisters mine ! 
W^e're hastening down the stream of lime, 



294 OTHER POEMS. 

And when we worthy are to share 
The "place" our Saviour doth "prepare,' 
He'll safely guide us "o'er the river," 
To dwell in God's dear home forever. 

No shadow there shall chill the heart, 
To bid its treasured hopes depart, 
But every friend we've loved and lost, 
And those we shall still cherish most. 
We'll meet again, all sorrow o"er. 
At "Our Heavenly Father's door." 

'Tis thus I dream of home and Heaven, 
And when the gentle spell is riven. 
An influence pure — a light all clear — 
Which beautifies life's duties here. 
Around my spirit sweetly gleams, 
And thus I love to dream day-dreams. 




OTHER POEMS. 295 



AUTUMN SHADOWS. 

The autumn clouds have gathered 

Far up the sunny sky. 
The summer flowers have faded. 

And on her tomb now He ; 
The cold, sad winds are moaning, 

While in the chillins: rain 
The brown leaves droop and tremble, 

Like a heart o"er-hlled with pain. 

O, leaves of gold and crimson. 

So glorious in decay. 
You 'mind us of bright moments 

W^hich long have passed awav ; 
For gloomy autumn shadows, 

'Tis not on Nature's face 
Alone we find your presence, 

Alone your lines we trace. 

For all our lives have shadows — 

We greet them day by day — 
Some are of short duration. 

While others longer stav. 
There is no week that passes 

But brings its shaded hours ; 
God gives us not all sunshine, 

For better oft are showers. 



296 OTHER POEMS. 

There's scarce a month that passes 

But brings the tidings near, 
Some friend, by ties of friendship, 

Or kindred yet more dear, 
Has crossed the dim, cold valley — 

Gone to the "other shore" — 
And here on earth we'll meet them, 

Ah! never, nevermore! 

Oh, withered autumn trophies! 

We read from your decay 
The sad and solemn lesson — 

We, too, shall pass away ; 
For we are frail and earthly. 

And be it far or nigh. 
For us there'll' come an autumn. 

In which to fade and die. 

X 
But even as the flowers 

In spring shall bloom once more, 
We, too, shall wake in gladness 

Beyond earth's fading shore. 
Our souls shall have their spring-time 

Where joy will never end — 
A home of light in Heaven — 

There all our hopes do tend. 

X 

No autumn there shall cloud us 
With cold and weeping showers ; 

No chilling frost shall wither 
The beauteous summer flowers ; 



OTHER POEMS. 

But in God's holy sunshine 
All shadows will be o'er, 

For with the loved united, 
We'll bless God evermore. 



297 




19 



298 OTHER POEMS. 



A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. 

December snows lay cold and white 

Along the northern hills and plains, 
And pure as erst the moonbeams bright 

Shone on the cottage window-panes 
Where farmer Sherwin long had dwelt, 

Blest with his good wife's love and care ; 
And honored — for his worth was felt 

By his five children, nurtured there. 

Herbert, the eldest of them all, 

Upon an early summer's day, 
Had answered to his country's call, 

And with his comrades marched away. 
Ginevera, next, a winsome maid. 

With mother's face, and air and form, 
Her father's heart, Fm half afraid. 

Gave her a love more deep and warm 

Than pensive Gertrude, who, like him. 

More quiet seemed ; yet her dark eyes 
Held in their depths shy questioning, 

That filled the gazer with surprise ; 
As if some dim foreshadowing 

Of life's great mystery — sin's alloy — ' 
Already touched the hidden spring 

Of her young soul, and checked its joy. 



OTHER POEMS. 299 

But roguish Willie's dozen years 

Had given him no shade of gloom, 
Tho' his a temper mixed, and fears 

Oft in his parents' hearts found room. 
Ah, sorrow swells those hearts to-night — 

This night before the Christmas dawn — 
For Lilian — fairy Lilian — bright, 

The household pride, and youngest born. 

Lies tossing on her couch of pain. 

Fast hastening to that radiant shore, 
Where angels wake the glorious strain 

"From death to life" forevermore. 
Seven times the summer suns had shone 

Upon her pure and gentle brow, 
Herself the sunshine of that home. 

Where droops the wing of sorrow now. 

Seven times the Christmas bells had rung 

Their merry greeting on the air, 
Since her short earthly life begun, 

To richly bless paternal care ; 
For lacking not the joyousness 

That Nature owes to every child, 
A wisdom far beyond her years. 

In all her looks and actions smiled. 

Thus guarded by the tenderest love, 

Her days, bright as the autumn leaves, had flown. 
Till fell disease espied the dove, 

And marked its beauty for his own. 



300 OTHER POEMS. 

The hours speed on ; outside the night, 
Unheeding fond affection's prayer, 

Shines on — the stars still write 
God's love to man, in glory there. 

And Lillian from short slumber wakes, 

And calls her dear ones to her bed. 
With trembling clasp each hand she takes 

And whispered words of love are said ; 
Then o'er her features comes — the while 

Death's damp uncurls her sunny hair — 
Earth's last. Heaven's first enraptured smile, 

Such as the dying often wear. 

"Mother, within God's heavenly land, 

Christ has prepared the Christmas Tree, 
And in my dreams he took my hand, 

And said a gift was there for me. 
O, do not weep, for all is bright. 

And God will call you all, I know. 
Ere long. So kiss me now — good-night. 

I'm weary, and I long to go !" 



They gave and took the last fond kiss. 

From those sweet lips, fast growing cold — 
Poor Herbert, dreamed he aught of this. 

Sleeping where blue Potomac rolled ? — 
She calls him, and a troubled glance 

A moment on her face they see. 
Then with last effort folds her hands, 

And prays, "Dear Lord, kiss him for me!" 



OTHER POEMS. 301 

The morrow came with golden beam, 

To usher in the Christ-birth-day — 
All pale, yet beautiful, was seen 

Their darling Lillian's "house of clay." 
But to those sorrowing ones who mourn, 

This comfort sweet was given ; 
To them that Christmas night was born 

A blessed angel child in Heaven. 

Four Springs the snow-drop buds have flung 

Their fairest blossoms to the breeze. 
The willow's graceful tassels hung, 

Their sweets to tempt the roving bees ; 
Four Summers, rich with light and song, 

Have poured their bloom along Time's wave, 
Four Autumns shook their blight and storm 

Above dear Lillian's lowly grave. 

And now the Christmas comes once more, 

With hallowed light to bless mankind — 
Again we'll ope the cottage door. 

And lo! a cheerful group we find. 
Thicker the threads of silver gleam 

Among the farmer's dark locks now, 
A trifle deeper lines are seen 

Along the mother's gentle brow. 

Willie, a tall and handsome lad, 

Still draws from mischief large returns. 

In Gertrude's beaming eyes, half sad. 
The light of wakened genius burns. 



302 OTHER POEMS. 

Ginevera, fairer than before, 

Now blushing wears betrothal ring ; 

And manly Herbert, home once more, 
Completes the cottage gathering. 

To him that dying prayer has been 

A safeguard and strong shield. 
Against the tempting power of sin. 

In city thronged, or battle-field — 
The years have changed them all for good, 

Each heart enriched with memories 
Of her who wears her angelhood 

With sweetest grace, in Paradise. 

They speak of her with reverent tone. 

And many a loving glance by all 
Is cast upon her pictured face. 

That hangs beside the humble wall. 
I fancy that this sacred eve. 

Her spirit pure, before the Throne 
Asks blessings for this band, and leave 

To watch above that earthly home. 
And musing on the vision fair. 

Afar from friends / may not see, 
I, too, recall her trusting prayer, 

And ask, "Dear Lord, bless them for me!" 



1 



OTHER POEMS. 303 



RHYMES OF AN APRIL DAY. 

Blue overhead is the sky to-day, 
Every cold cloud has vanished away ; 
Golden and fair, each sun-bright beam 
Writes upon every object seen, 

"Lo, Spring days have come!'' 
Gently and softly, the south winds, blow, 
Silently melting the patches of snow. 
While o'er the hills, on the palpitant air, 
Comes a glad sound from the valleys where 

Jubilant wavelets run. 

Robins are here : from the old willow tree. 
Just now I heard a rich pean of glee. 
And out in the woods I doubt not to-day 
Green leaves are pushing the cold earth away. 

So as to peep at the sky. 
If the sun shineth like this for a week, 
Bright buds will rise in their innocence sweet, 
Ready to burst into beauteous bloom, 
To garland with brightness the cold, dark tomb. 

Where the dead winter doth lie. 

O, there are hearts in the round world to-day. 
Dark as the tomb where gleameth no ray 
Of heavenly light ; for sorrow and pain 
Still hold their vigils in sunshine or rain, 



304 OTHER POEMS. 

Or the south wind's balmy breath ! 
You have a mission, O beauteous day! 
Speak to those sad, mourning hearts, I pray. 
Bring to them hope, and whisper of cheer 
That waiteth for them in that glorious sphere, 

Beyond what we wrongly call death ! 

Speak to the hearts whose spirits are bowed 
With the mountainous weight of doubt's cold cloud, 
Open the door, and let trust come in. 
Sweet as the. song thy warblers sing. 
To herald spring's advent once more ! 
Go to the prisoner whose errors have brought 
The bonds of the law, and despairing tho't; 
Bid him repent and go forth to the light ; 
Ever to honor and work for the right, 
As he never has done before. 

Visit the wretched in dark haunts of sin, 
And carry an influence, potent to win 
Away from those walks of loathing and strife. 
Back to the fair paths of virtuous life. 

O, do all the good that you can! 
Go to the poor, who have nothing to do — 
Wretches are they who have naught to pursue ; 
He who can work has balm for his woes. 
For God, knowing labor had sweets to disclose, 

Gave that command unto man. 

And we must be doing, likewise, would we win 

The blessings these bright hours are sent here to bring, 



OTHER POEMS. 305 

For '*each had a penny," bestowed not as dower. 
Who wrought with good will "the eleventh hour," 

And may we not hope for the same ? 
Then hence be each murmuring tho't from the mind, 
And to labor, with spirit all cheerful inclined — 
If the soil of the present be sown with good seed, 
The rain and the sun God will send as we need, 

And a harvest of worth we shall gain. 



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IN MEMORIAM. 

On passing thro' N. Attleboro', Mass., where a sister had died. 

The day is o'er, the night comes down 

With soft and dewy wing, 
To cast around o'er vale and town 

Her peaceful sheltering. 
But in my heart the gentle waves 

Of long-gone sorrows glide — 
I have passed by the house to-day, 

Where darling Lucy died. 

It stands upon a pleasant street, 

And with the contrast nigh, 
Presents no striking charm to tempt, 

Or chain the admiring eye. 
But O, for })ic an interest dwelt 

Round all that I could see, 
Because that house had been the home 

Of one so dear to me. 

Its windows oft had framed hier face. 

In days that long are o'er. 
Her feet had often pressed the path 

Which led unto the door. 
I longed the room to enter where 

Her spirit left the clay, 
Believing that some token there 

Would speak of her to-day. 



OTHER POEMS. 307 

I know the inmates of that home 

All loved her much and well, 
Their many acts of gentle care 

This language sweet would tell. 
They will not know a stranger passed 

With earnest gaze to-day— 
But God doth know, and may He bless 

With joy their earthly way. 

It was not strange that I should think 

More balmy was the air, 
And that the sunshine brighter seemed. 

Because she had lived there. 
Nor that the church across the way 

More sacredness should wear. 
Because within it oft her soul 

Had offered praise and prayer. 

Since then Time's loom has woven years, 

But still the silent tear 
Attests the worth and memory 

Of one so justly dear. 
It is a false and idle tale, 

That we forget our dead. 
Sooner the sun forget to rise. 

Or God should change, instead. 

O, sister! in these vanished years. 

Where has thy spirit roved ? 
Has it not kept in thy new home, 

Remembrance of Earth's loved? 



3o8 OTHER POEMS. 

And where are those who since have gone 
From out the household band? 

Have they not joined thee, ne'er to part, 
In Heaven's own glorious Land ? 



My soul goes out beneath the stars 

Of hope, that shine beyond 
This mortal life ; and in their light 

I never can despond. 
I cannot doubt. The heart's great deep 

Of human love forbids the tho't ; 
I cannot feel its streams would flow 

At God's command for naught. 

Ah, no ! and all the tenderness 

We yield to truth and worth. 
Will not be lost ; its very strength 

Proclaims immortal birth. 
Then let us hope and trust the more. 

Since trust so sweet is given. 
That those we love and lose on earth, 

Will all be ours in Heaven. 




OTHER POEMS. 309 



NIGHT MUSINGS. 

How beautiful the night ! No sombre cloud 
Is hovering nigh, to veil us in a shroud 
Of gloom ; but the fair and boundless sky, 
Like a blue sea or mirror spread on high, 
Where the full moon takes up her queenly reign, 
With all the twinkling host that follows in her train. 
Seems written o'er with words of love and trust, 
No shadow there, to speak of change and dust. 

O, the rich beauty of the night ! Without — 
God's smile — the moonlight — glides about, 
O'er dancing waves and landscape spreading wide, 
O'er hill and cottage, tree and mountain side, 
Making each object pleasing to the sight, 
So pure and holy seems the mystic light ; 
While the cool wind, that wanders to and fro 
'Mid the dark leaves, makes music sweet and low. 

Within, thro' the raised window softly gleams 
That glorifying smile ; and on its shining beams 
Come pure and gentle tho'ts of peace and rest, 
Of Heaven and home and friends we love the best ; 
And memories olden, that within the soul 
Forever hold a sweet and strong control. 
Rise up, dispelling far away 
The sad, perplexing cares that filled the day. 



3IO OTHER POEMS. 

O God, we bless Thee for the night! The time 
When prayer best loves to lift its wings divine, 
And soar from grateful souls far up to Thee, 
Thou fount of love and good and purity ; 
To thank Thee for each blessing given, 
Each sorrow sent to draw us nearer Heaven, 
And for that faith which paints a world so blest. 
It needs 'no night' to soothe the day's unrest. 




OTHER POEMS. 3II 



SPRING GLEAMS. 

April sunshine, fair and golden, 
O'er the earth once more is flowing, 
All the brown old hills caressing. 
Wood and vales, too, share the blessing. 
And ere long, in living green 
Forth their gratitude will beam. 

April breezes, pure and bracing — 
Winter's footsteps fast eftacing — 
Hie thro' crowded street and alley, 
Speed o'er mountain, lake and valley. 
Bearing on their silken wings 
Showers to haste rich blossomings. 

Thro' the open window wafting 
Sweet bird music, and the laughter 
Of the swiftly dancing waters — 
Think you that the bright rill loiters, 

Now from frozen clasp set free? 

Hark ! and hear its song of glee ! 

Wake my soul ! to this glad spring-time ! 

Wake and share the bloom and sunshine ! 

Plough and sow in goodly measure. 

Seeds of earnest tho't and labor, 
Then, when comes the harvest time. 
Thou shal't glow with fruitage fine ! 



312 OTHER POEMS. 

Haste, for on the days are speeding, 
April to young May gives greeting ; 
May, with warmer gales and showers. 
Calls to life the buried flowers, 
And in fairer robes they shine, 
Tokens bright of Love divine. 

While each bird the blue air winging. 
And each blade of grass upspringing. 
Lessons teach of faith and duty — . 
He who "clothes the fields"' with beauty, 
Will not any child forsake, 
But of all kind care will take. 

O, bright Spring-time, 'neath thy gladness 
Throbs a tender chord of sadness! 
Memories of the worthy hearted, 
Other Springs have from us parted — 
Other Springs have borne away 
To the Land of bloom alway. 

But we may not grieve too sorely — 
Thou dost bring us comfort holy. 
For each budding leaf gives promise 
Of that other life beyond this, 
Where eternal goodness dwells. 
Never marred by sad farewells. 

There, those loved ones, youth immortal 
Share within that shining portal ; 
For I've seen them in night's dreaming, 
And each feature bright was beaming, 



OTHER POEMS. 3I3 

With a wondrous beauty rare — 
Earthly face was ne'er so fair! 

Earthly song ne'er had such chorus — 
Earthly flowers were ne'er so glorious. 
As I saw in that rapt vision, 
Picturing forth the joys elysian — 

Still its memory doth remain. 

Soothing many an hour of pain. 

O, bright Home-Land! this glad Spring-time 
Brings us gleams of thy rich sunshine — 
As earth's beauty whispers ever 
Of the wise and loving Giver. 

May these gleams our path along. 

Guide us from all sin and ^^Tong ! 

Lead us to new truths each morrow. 
Give us strength for every sorrow, 
Till, by God's divine appointing. 
We shall wake, some radiant morninsf. 

Where the "crystal waters roll," 

In the Spring- Land of the Soul. 




20 



314 



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CENTENNIAL JUNE. 

Month of memories sweet and tender, 
June, thou rose of richest splendor — 
Royal pearl set in the centei 

Of this grand Centennial Year, 
Into which, from streams unnumbered, 
AH the years we count an hundred 

Have poured forth, both far and near. 
All their blessings and their treasures — 
All their glory and their greatness. 

From the store-house of the Past. 
Now, while many a clime and nation 
With my country is exchanging 

Friendship's warm and cordial grasp. 
Thou hast come, O month the dearest, 
To my heart forever nearest I 

And I joy to greet thee here. 

With a gratitude sincere. 

Sing gay birds your sweetest music, 

Every talent take and use it — 

Ah ! dear birds, you'll not abuse it — 

In your Maker's glad employ! 
Bloom, O flowers, with all your brightness, 
Imaofinins: somewhat the likeness 

Of soul-blossoms, when in joy 
All our highest powers are thrilling 



OTHER POEMS. 315 

To the prayer, Lord, I am willing 

That "Thy will, not mine, be done." 
Blow soft breezes, heaven inspiring, 
And while Nature's queen admiring. 

Wake earth's children, every one, 
To pure works of love and duty, 
Setting radiant gems of beauty 

In each soul that loyal proves 

To the right, and all right loves. ' 

Bless, O June, all hearts in sorrow. 
Bound by creeds that will not borrow 
Hope and light from God's bright morrow, 

Whose eternal, glorious sun 
Sheds the rich and glowing sunshine 
Of this truth ; that God, not one time, 

But while endless eons run. 
Is a just and loving Father 
Ever to His children, rather 

Than revengeful ; and that man 
Unto all mankind is brother — 
Precious truth — than which none other 

More effectual e'er can plan 
To lift up from vice the fallen. 
And to nobler life thus call them ! 

But to aid this high work, thine 
Is the power, O month of gladness ! 
To win souls from sin and sadness. 

Towards the better life divine ! 

While thy radiant glories shine, 

Bless all hearts as thou hast mine. 



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THE STORY OF NADINE. 

In Switzerland, fair Switzerland, 
With varied scenery, wild and grand, 
Where "Alps on Alps" rise up between 
The lovely hills and valleys green, 
To lofty peaks, whose snows defy 
The tender rays of summer's sky — 
Whose might of majesty doth quite 
Enthrall the stranger with delight, 
When, morn or eve, the sun-god throws 
A thousand rainbow-tinted glows, 
In wondrous shading, bright cr soft. 
On chapel, inn, or cot aloft. 
Perched on their rugged sides, where green 
A little mossy plot is seen : — 
Here dwelt, in days long passed away, 
Nadine, of whom I write to-day. 
Here where Lucerne's delightful lake 
Her charming scenery doth make — 
Here where fair Leman smiles to view, 
With waves of beauteous heavenly blue. 
And Clarens old, "Sweet Clarens" fair, 
With lovely hillsides sloping there, 
To Milleries' darkly frowning rocks, 
And deep ravines and pine-wood grots ; 
Near where Mount Righi lifts his head, 
Where Lake Zug's waters clear are spread, 



OTHER POEMS. 317 

The lovely village Arth had place, 
Close nestling at the mountain's base. 
Its dark, wailed convent towering o'er 
The cottages along the shore ; 
Where happy at their work, each day 
The peasants whiled the hours away. 
A little way up Righi's side, 
A stranger from his inn espied. 
One day long past, a cottage small. 
By chestnut trees and alpines tall 
Half hid — behind it flowed a stream, 
Whose course uneven oft did gleam 
With little waterfalls ; whose sound 
To music woke the echoes round. 
Here dwelt Nadine, an orphan left, 
But not of kindly care bereft — 
A cousin of her mother's came 
To dwell with her, when death did claim 
Her parents, and she taught the child 
All needful things ; while oft she smiled 
To see how fair her young charge grew, 
As years their bloom upon her threw. 
And smiling thus, "Mere Carmen said, 
"Nadine must be a lady made." 
For less of piety than pride 
I fear did in her heart abide. 
But faithfully the child she taught 
All peasant duties, as she ought : 
To spin and knit and butter make, 
Which to the market she did take, 
Till, when she'd seen a dozen years. 



3l8 OTHER POEMS. 

Nadine, the dai^ child, appears 

Quite famed, as behig active, neat, 

Whose butter e'er was fresh and sweet 

As her fair self. One fatal day — 

A pleasant morn in early May, 

To see a mate of hers she went 

Far up the mountain, and there spent 

In her friend's home most of the day, 

In girlish pastime, blithe and gay. 

The sinking sun warned her return. 

But ere half home she could discern 

The rising clouds, that plain foretold 

One of those sudden storms, so cold, 

That in these mountain regions come 

Sometimes, when summer's well begun. 

A freezing wind began to blow. 

And in her face to dash the snow — 

For swift the air with snow was thick — 

And darkness settled down so quick 

She lost her way, but wandered on, 

Till, numb 's\ith cold, her strength was gone, 

And sinking down, a stupor deep 

Came o'er her like the charm of sleep. 

Friends found her when the storm had past. 

And to the cottage bore her fast. 

But days went by of fever pain. 

Ere she her senses did regain. 

And what a bitter waking ! To her sight 

No more would come earth's pleasant light — 

Ne'er would she see the Alps again, 



OTHER POEMS. 319 

Or village, lake or grassy plain, 

Or aught around her mountain home, 

For from her eyes all sight had flown. 

They never had been very strong, 

And oft had pained her — now the storm 

And long, hard fever had destroyed 

The power of sight in each blue orb. 

She asked, as soon as sense had sway 

Over her being, "for one ray 

Of blessed sunshine in her room." 

Mere kissed her, answering "It is noon — 

Broad day-light all around you, dear," 

Nadine cried, "-Day-light I Did I hear 

Ari2:ht? O, nol it cannot be I 

The room is dark — / cannot see I " 

With hopes that time would bring relief. 

Mere sought to soothe the poor child's grief; 

But weeks went on, and all in vain, 

No skill or time could sight regain ; 

While darkness deeper than without 

Was folded round her soul about. 

"Why had God chosen her," she tho't, 

"To suffer such a bitter lot?" 

While every hour, that passed so slow. 

More and more cruel seemed the blow. 

She wept undl her tears were dry. 

And in her sorrow prayed to die ; 

But all unheeded was her prayer. 

Death only mocked her wild despair. 

"Yet, O, Jura.' could she^ live," indeed! 

Her soul in anguish deep, did bleed ! 



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At last God sent her radiant dreams, 
And soul-sight of diviner scenes. 
She felt Christ with her. whispering thus : 
"Lean thou on nic, in my love trust, 
And I will be thy light thro' life !" 
Then gently passed away all strife 
From out her soul. Most kind was Mere ; 
The peasant girls, too, came to cheer 
Each day her darkness ; and when well. 
They led her out to cot and dell. 
Till she had learned each path around 
Her home. Thus love and nature found 
Balm for her, tiU she ceased to mourn 
The loss of sight she once had known. 
She soon became the \-illage pet — 
All loved her and did much regret 
Her fate. Thus for her blindness she 
Received affection's ministry-. 
Her former work, all that she could. 
She now resumed \\ith cheerful mood — 
Her cows would hasten at her call. 
Her goats, and even her birds, seemed all 
To know she needed kindness such 
As they could show : and ven.- much 
She prized the love of each and all. 
Good Father Menton oft would call 
To see her — kindly take her out to walk 
Beside the lake, and gently talk 
Of holy things, till her young mind 
O'ercame sad yearnings. No more blind 
She felt, but patient, calm content 



OTHER POEMS. 321 

Was with her now, where'er she went. 

With love to God her heart was filled 

So richly, that all grief distilled 

In dews of grace upon her ; and her life 

Flowed onward, void of sin and strife. 

Till birthdays hers were seventeen ; 

Then came the joy of love's young dream — 

Love's glowing morn, but ere its noon 

Clouds veiled its glory with dark gloom. 

Two brothers near Arth village lived, 
Who fi-om their parents had received 
A little piece of land ; for they 
Were orphans, too ; but one could say 
In disposition not at all 
Alike ; for Bertrand we might call 
A book-worm, truly. Happy he, 
Whate'er his daily fare might be, 
To tend his flocks, while by himself, 
From books and Nature learn what else 
He thus could gain. But Henrich grew 
Tired of their peasant life. "He knew 
He could do better." Thus one day 
He, with a friend, went far away. 
And hired a famous inn. Full of fun 
Was Henrich. and his brightness won 
Swift custom, so that %rith much pains — 
Being attentive to his gains — 
He came to be quite wealthy : while 
Bertrand his leisure did beguile 
With study. Father Menton, pleased 



322 OTHER POEMS. 

With Bertrand's progress, oft relieved 

His wants with books and counsel. Thus 

His life flowed on with peaceful course. 

For years unruffled, till one day — 

A festal day — he took his way 

Towards "Church St. Mary of the Snow," 

And saw procession (walking slow,) 

Of fair young girls, with veils of white 

And lighted tapers. To his sight 

Then first appeared the blind Nadine, 

The loveliest maiden he had seen. 

And when they told him she was blind, 

Such pity stirred his gentle mind 

That love awoke ; and from that day 

Scarce any other passed away, 

For months, on which. he saw her not. 

And winter evenings, in her cot 

He read his favorite books aloud 

To her, while Mere, herself quite proud. 

Sat listening near. His voice most swe6t 

And winning ways, did soon complete 

The victory. Nadine ere long 

Gave him her heart. This was the dawn 

Of joy ; a world of joy did seem 

To open for the blind Nadine, 

All filled with light and music, too — 

'Twas Heaven opened to her view. 

It made the winter bright and warm, 

In spite of all the ice and storm. 

And, ere she dreamed it, flowers of spring 

Along her walks were blossoming ; 



OTHER POEMS. 323 

So swiftly had time taken flight 

Since love filled all her soul with light. 

One April eve, when Bertrand came, 

He said, "Some h)usiness will detain 

Me from my home a month or so — 

To Vallois canton I must go — 

But Henrich has so wealthy grown, 

He's left the inn — is now at home ; 

And there has promised he will stay. 

To tend my flocks while I'm away." 

Next eve then Henrich came to see 

His brothers wife that was to be, 

With Bertrand ; and 'twas very plain 

She pleased him, for each day he came 

When Bertrand had departed on his journey, 

Having arranged that his returning 

Should haste his marriage with Nadine ; 

His parting words to her had been, 

"Remember, by the first of June 

We will be wed — at least as soon. 

Now, Carmen, take good care, I pray, 

Of my dear girl while I'm away." 

She promised this, and then he went, 

But with him all Nadine's content. 

For, as I said, that Henrich came 

To see her every day, 'twas plain 

Mere Carmen liked ///;// best ; and oft 

She wished Nadine was /us betrothed. 

But tho' Nadine tried much to take 

Interest in him, for Bertrand's sake. 

His noisy jests distressed her, and she felt 



324 OTHER POEMS. 

A stormy nature with him dwelt, 

Unlike her gentle Bertrand's. It was true, 

His new-made wealth had bro't to view 

Unpleasant traits. Vain had he grown. 

And soon he lost the favor known 

Of old among the villagers ; 

But Carmen ever gave him hers ; 

And oft she praised his jaunty dress 

And handsome face. "What happiness 

His well-filled purse will bring his wife, 

Who'll be a lady all her life !" 

But blind Nadine minds not her words, 

A strange unrest her mind disturbs, 

Until a line from Bertrand came, 

Which Mere read to her. It was plain 

They must be busy, for the day 

He'd named was scarce a week away. 

"And on that day we will be wed 

Within the chapel," thus he said. 

At night Mere bro't a golden cross 

And ear-rings with a silk head-cloth, 

And said, • 'they're Bertrand's gifts ; I'm pleased, 

These are the very things you need ; 

Now you can sleep, and dream of flowers 

Instead of brambles and snow showers." 

Her words were strange to poor Nadine, 

So were the gifts — "they did not seem 

Such as a poor man's bride should wear," 

She tho't, and therefore could not share 

Mere's pleasure. But the last of May, 

Which Bertrand named their wedding day, 



OTHER POEMS. 325 

Soon dawned all fair. And Nadine thoH 

Angels were smiling o'er her lot ; 

And tried to feel at peace. But no, 

A shuddering sense of coming woe 

Thrilled thro' her being, tho' with will 

And prayer she strove its dread to still. 

Mere hurried her thro' all the morn, 

And when at last her garments on — 

White skirt, blue jacket, head-cloth white. 

And cross and ear-rings shining bright. 

Mere said, "You should 2i lady be. 

Ride in a coach that all might see 

How beautiful you are attired — " 

But trembling, here Nadine inquired 

"Why Bertrand came not? Why, indeed, 

Her mates came not with usual speed 

And flowery offerings, as they did 

At other bridals?" "They're not bid 

To come, till after you are wed ; 

And Bertrand waits us now," Mere said, 

"Within the chapel." Soon the girl 

She led to church. Once there, a whirl 

Of terror seized poor Nadine then. 

For Bertrand was not there ; and when 

Good Father Menton came and laid 

His hand in blessing on her head. 

She wept in agony and fear. 

"Why do you weep?" he asked. "My dear. 

Do you not love him you're to wed ?" 

"Better than aught on earth!" she said. 

"Then why this grief?" But now a stir 



326 OTHER POEMS. 

Was at the door — one came to her 

And took her hand, whispered "Nadine," 

And Mere said "Bertrand," In a dream 

They led her forward, and she knelt — 

"What strange, st^-ange spell was this?" Shtfelt 

Not Bertrand's presence — but to speak, 

In vain she tried — she was so weak 

With terror. When she did her sense recall, 

Words had been said that settled all — 

Her husbatid raised her up, and carried 

Her from the church, while Carmen tarried. 

The air revived her, and he led 

Her forward, but no word he said. 

"Speak Bertrand, speak!" at last, she cried. 

He only pressed her hand, and sighed. 

And then she fainted quite. No more 

She knew, till safe within the door 

Of her own home ; within a chair 

He placed her, and beside her there 

Sank down and cried, "Nadine, forgive! 

I could not give you up and live ! 

Let my great love for you now plead 

My pardon." Theti she knew, indeed! 

What all her awful dread had meant — 

'Twas Hetirich she had married. Bent 

On making her a rich man's bride, 

Mere Carmen set the truth aside. 

And had deceived her in the day 

Bertrand had set ; then planned the way 

With Henrich, thus to have her wed 

To him, ere time had heralded 



OTHER POEMS. 327 

Bertrand's return. She little dreamed 
How terrible the blow I It seemed 
The shock had killed Nadine. ''Twas hours 
Ere consciousness resumed its powers 
In that still form, after she knew 
The truth. Death-stricken to his view 
Henrich believed her; thus, too. Mere 
At first thought, when she came. But fear 
Quickened her elTorts to restore 
Life to that pallid frame once more. 
She breathed at last ; but weeks went by 
In which, half waking, she did lie 
Upon her couch, no notice taking 
Of aught around ; while Carmen waiting 
Each sign of life that she made known. 
Ne'er heard her utter word or moan ; 
The chirpings of her birds no more 
Aroused her, as in days of yore ; 
Life was a blank — the past was gone — 
And yet she lived, while time went on. 

Six weeks flew by. One eve Nadine 
Received of life a wakened gleam ; 
But the first thought she could recall 
In after years of that strange thrall 
Of sense, was, that her room was still. 
Save the soft breeze that came to fill 
And move the curtain folds about 
The open window. From without. 
The far-off hum of living things 
Came in with gentle murmurings. 



328 OTHER POEMS. 

And then a hand clasped hers — she felt 

Some one in grief beside her knelt ; 

For soon a face sank heavily 

Upon the hands, and silently 

The hot tears fell. A long, deep grief. 

Which did not seek for its relief 

To draw her into it. At length. 

The sound of footsteps going hence 

Came in upon her feeble sense, 

Thrilled back to life, by influence 

Of that dear presence ; then, too, came 

Her bitter grief and all its pain. 

That Bertrand had been there she knew, 

And ta'en of her his last adieu — 

She moaned and wept, at last grew still. 

High, holy tho'ts her soul did fill ; 

As if an angel to her came, 

Gave strength, and made her duty plain. 

When Mere came in, to her surprise 

And deepest joy, the poor, blind eyes 

Held now their wistful look of yore ; 

Nadine was her owtt self once more. 

And Mere, repentant Mere, then begged 

Forgiveness for the grief she'd made ; 

'Twas granted. Then about the past, 

And "where was H enrich?" Nadine asked. 

And soon she learned her husband, too. 

Had been quite ill. When Bertrand knew. 

At his return, what had been done, 

The shock made him, instead of dumb, 

Half crazed ; and quick he sought 



OTHER POEMS. 329 

For Henrich, and the brothers fought — 

Henrich was wounded, and had been 

111 ever since — "recoverinsf 

He is, for Bertrand, swift made sane. 

Has nursed him back to health aofain." 

This hearing, tho't Nadine anew, 

"Bertrand forgives, and I must, too." 

From this time she improved each day. 

And when a week had passed away. 

Came Henrich, asking for Nadine ; 

And O, so different did he seem — 

So changed — so humble and so sad — 

That all the bitterness she had, 

In pity melted from her heart, 

Thus making easier her part. 

And this great change was deep and true — 

Long as he lived, all he could do 

To recompense the cruel wrong 

He'd wrought to her, he did perform. 

Mere rightly judged, Nadine would not, 

Once wed, allow one tender tho't 

Of Bertrand e"'er to come between 

Herself and Henrich ; and I ween, 

Tho' she could not forget him, yet 

The angels saw naught to regret 

In that remembrance. Yea, she learned, 

As time went on, her grief had burned 

Itself to ashes ; for no sin 

Of tho't or action, dwelt within 

Her chastened heart to feed it. Not 

A murmur rose against her lot. 
21 



330 OTHER POEMS. 

And Bertrand — ere Nadine was well. 

Had gone from Arth. He could not dwell 

Where all would 'mind him of the past ; 

He joined the Priesthood, and at last 

In distant canton he became 

A curate. But whatever his pain, 

Or trials, not a friend e'er heard ; 

His life, devoted to his Lord, 

Went on. No one could henceforth take 

The place Nadine had held, or make 

His heart put forth new buds of love. 

Save those whose flowers will bloom above. 

While patient, chastened — loved by all — 

His life flowed on — enriched withal, 

No doubt, by this affliction ; for not vain 

To him this ministry of pain. 

Years swept along and bro't at length, 
Nadine a blessed recompense — 
A child — a lovely boy, was given 
Herself and Henrich. Then was riven 
The ice-chain round her heart ; the love 
Of motherhood, blest from above, 
Bro't sunshine to her life again. 
And joy that sang a sweet refrain. 
Her darling's face she could not see. 
But well s\\G.felt that it must be 
Most fair : And as he older grew. 
Her beauty, and the sweetness tco, 
Of her mild character, was his. 
And his pure love, a stream of bliss 



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Bro't^o her darkened life, while fast 

The years went on, till ten had past. 

Then Henrich, who quite ill had been, 

Thro' the long winter suffering, 

Sank in death's sleep, and likewise Mere, 

After long illness, died that year. 

Nadine mourned for them, as kind friends. 

But time, which ever makes amends 

In all our griefs, soon healed the wound ; 

And, if 'twere possible, this bound 

Her heart yet closer to her boy, 

Her life — her idol and her joy. 

And never was there worthier son, 

So gentle, so affectionate — each one 

Who knew him, loved the bright-eyed lad — 

No dearer pet, the village had. 

Another year, when summer bro't 

The mountain travel, blest the lot 

Of those who hired him for their guide 

Far up and down old Righi's side. 

For all his mules were better trained 

Than other lad's, whose ages ranged 

With his. One eve a party large 

Engaged young Eric to take charge 

Of them next day, and guide them safe 

Up towards the mountain's height. At break 

Of early dawn he was astir. 

And when all ready came to her. 

His mother, full of happiness, 

And told his plans. With many a kiss 

At length he left her. When was spread 



332 OTHER POEMS. 

Their evening meal of milk and bread, 

She took her knitting to the door, 

And sat to wait his coming. Cer 

And o'er, the moments counted ; listening still 

The sound of those light feet, until 

The sunset vanished. Then alarm 

Disturbed her, lest some ill or harm 

Had come to Eric. Ne'er before 

Had he thus lingered from their door. 

Again she waited, but no sound 

Save chirpings of the birds around. 

Or sighings of the breeze among 

The garden shrubs. Her heart was wrung 

With tortured fear as time went on. 

Until another hour was gone. 

Then to her neighbors did she cry — 

She felt she should go mad or die — 

So great her agony. The neighbors came, 

And tried to soothcher. "Hark!" Again 

Sounds came along the path. Unknown 

The footsteps to her ear. With moan 

She started up, and sprang to meet 

The burden of those coming feet. 

"Eric" she cried, with hands out stretched — 

Damp, cold the object that they met, 

Colder than ice the thrill it sent 

Thro' all her veins : and then she went 

Quite wild indeed — for he was dead I 

She knew it ere upon the bed 

They laid him. And 'twas even so ! 

His temple showed the fatal blow 



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That had cut short his life. All day 
HeM been the party's joy — so gay, 
And bright with fun, that here and there, 
Each praised his beauty, and his care 
For their enjoyment. Their return 
Was half accomplished, when upon 
A steep descent a sudden slip 
Of the mule's foot he led, did quick 
Unbalance him : and o'er he fell 
Upon the craggy rocks — and — well, 
Altho' they bore him quickly to 
The nearest chalet to their view, 
And to revive him tried — in vain ! 
He never breathed or moved again. 
Pure as the angels, he had gone 
Swift to their presence. But upon 
The lone, blind mother — O, how sad 
The crushing blow ! All she had had 
Of sorrow seemed as naught to this. 
And many days in wild distress 
She wept and called for him, her child — 
She said herself, it made her wild ; 
For from her lips this tale was heard 
By an American, whom pity stirred 
To interest, as each day he passed 
Her cot, one summer spent in Arth. 
For there was in the pale, sad face, 
. And drooping form, which held its place 
Each morn beside her spinning wheel, 
A potent charm, that made him feel 
Desire to know her : and ere long 



334 OTHER POEMS. 

The wish was granted. Tho' the dawn 

Of manhood had gone by, he learned 

Rich lessons from this soul that burned 

Heaven's incense in its holy trust. 

Earth's vanities became but dust, 

While life, sublime in its varieties 

Of joy, hope, love and griefs and fears, 

Assumed a deeper meaning then 

To him, than e'er before. And when 

The time of his departure came, 

With deep regret he left her. Vain 

His wish that she would share 

Another home he would prepare — 

"From this dear spot, I could not go," 

She said. "I wait my call, for lo ! 

I soon shall join my angel son. 

My darling Eric — blessed one !" 

And thus they parted ; but he left 

With Father Menton a request 

For correspondence, thus to know 

Her future weal and lot ; but lo ! 

Death first claimed Menton ; yet at last 

He learned her "waiting" time had passed. 

And as the sunset gilds the day 

Sometimes, with beauty's richest ray, 

So to her life's last eve there came 

The glory of love's heavenly flame. 

For Father Menton's place was filled 

By Bertrand. And when death distilled 

Its cold dews o'er her, 'twas his hand 

That wiped her brow — his voice that spanned 



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The rainbow bridge, that led from earth 
Her soul to its immortal birth, 
Where sight to her blind eyes was given — 
She saw her Eric, blest in Heaven. 
Bertrand, likewise, at last, went Home 
Revered and loved by all he'd known. 
And years have gone since Nadine told 
Her friend this story — he, grown old. 
From earth long since has past away — 
From his descendants I one day 
Obtained these facts of by gone times, 
Which here are found in simple rhymes. 



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WEAVINGS. 

Read at Commencement at Goddard Seminary, Barre, Vt. 
June 27, 1877. 

When the winds of May were blowing 

Blithely, saucily and free, 
O^er the round Earth, lightly sowing 

Bloom and gladness yet to be. 
Then to me there came a letter 
From the honored, kind Preceptor, 

Of this worthy Institute ; 
Asking in behalf of Trustees 
And the School — where love and justice 

Seek to guide each hour's pursuit — 
Asking, would I grant the favor 

Of a Poem for this day? 
Day made sacred with the treasure 

Of mind jewels, whose pure ray 
Will, I trust, glow on and brighten, 
Hours of future toil to lighten 

For their owners, who must meet 

Life's great issue, sad or sweet ! 

As I finished then the reading 

Of the letter, plenitude 
Of surprise came o"'er me stealing, 

Blended deep with gratitude. 
But not long these held dominion — 



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With a rush there came to mingle 

Sense of mine own littlehood, 
In comparison with other 
Minds of talent, rich in culture, 

Whose possessors here have stood. 
And unto your wishes given 

Golden tho'ts in beauteous rhyme, 
Sparkling gems of wit and wisdom. 

Such as grace not brain of mine. 



Then my heart sank faint within me — 

Nay, I could not, dared not try — 
It were folly worse than simple, 

Want of knowledge to defy. 
So I turned at once, decided — 
But a voice, (I woiild describe it. 

If I could,) thus of my soul 
Questioned : When He cometh after 
That "one talent," which the Master 
Gave you long ago, Fm fearful 
You will find it, with eyes tearful. 

Rusting in its "napkin" roll. 
Will it not grow bright and brighter. 

If you strive to aid God's plan, 
Tho' you make but one heart lighter, 

Doing just the best you can ? 
If you trust to God your weakness, 

Seeking then to do His will. 
He can use your incompleteness. 

His own purpose to fulfill. 



338 OTHER POEMS. 

Then the waves of peace flowed round me, 

Calming every pulse of fear — 
Soon I wrote the words that bound me 

Thus before you to appear. 
And the days went onward speeding, 
While fair May was brightly weaving 

Rich bride-garments for the year. 
'Twas a wondrous web, all radiant, 
For in Nature's loom she'd laid it. 

And when days were bright and clear. 
Far on distant mountain summit 

Shone the "warp-beam," deftly wound 
With the golden threads that from it 

Reached all o'er the landscape round. 

Hill-tops served for "reed and harness," 

Clouds were "pulleys," winds the "lathe," 
Sunbeam threads that naught could tarnish, 

Running brooks the "treadles" made. 
All the hours were golden "tenters," 
Widening out the web momentus. 

While upon the weaver's bench 
Sat fair May, each moment sending 
Back and to the shuttle, blending 

Beauteous colors, which at length — 
God's all-perfect power disclosing, 

On the ground-work, velvet green. 
Radiant flowers, richly glowing, 

In the pattern bright were seen. 



OTHER POEMS. 339 

Husbandmen their seeds were sowing, 

For the coming harvest hour, 
While the shuttle, coming, going. 
Showed each day the weaver's power. 
Gauzy hues of budding trees. 
Darker shades of evergreens, 

With Spring's darlings, sweet and fair — 
Garden blooms and meadow blossoms, 
Woodland gems and pearls of orchards, 

All were woven brightly, there. 
Till one night the "cloth-beam" turning. 

May wound up her work from sight. 
And when midnight stars were burning 

Quickly took her heavenward flight. 

But at morn, another maiden 

Came to watch and tend the loom ; 
One with gifts and graces laden 

Richly — glorious month of June. 
Brightest star in all the circle 
Of the year's crown. Swift her shuttle 

Wrought still fairer buds and flowers. 
While her lips, with song o'erflowing, 
Gave new sweetness to the poem 

Nature wrote, 'mid sun and showers. 
Soon the bride-robes all were woven 

For the year, now to be wed 
To young Summer's king, with golden 

Crown upon his princely head ; 

And the singing birds all said — 



340 OTHER POEMS. 

Lo, this radiant month of June 
Is the year's glad honeymoon ! 

But my soul was hushed and quiet, 

'Mid Earth's gladness, and her bloom ; 
For the Muse I loved was silent — 

Would she not my lyre attune ? 
Every morn for days together, 
Was it dark or stormy weather, 

Did I strive to catch the gleam 
Of the angel's wings who waited 
At the door of hope, full freighted 

With high tho't that I might glean 
All this beauty in a poem. 
With melodious rhyme o'erflowing. 

And instruction deeply wrought. 
But tho' oft I searched the chamber 
Of my brain to find the stranger, 

To my call she answered not. 

And the days went onward swiftly, 

Towards the very heart of June, 
Then again that music whisper 

Woke my soul from out her swoon. 
Thus it said : Would'st own the blessing 
Nature's handmaids are possessing? 

Why not act upon their plan ? 
Without effort naught's accomplished, 
But how many a dread is vanquished, 

Doing just the best we can. . 
Why so certain of denial. 



OTHER POEMS. 341 

To the wish your soul doth ask ? 
If you never make the trial, 
Who can aid you in your task? 

'Twas a glorious day for writing — 
God and Nature both invitins- 

From the mind its purest tho't ; 
So all other cares dismissino-. 
To my room in silence flitting, 

There my desk I quickly sought, 
And drew out ink, pen and paper, 
And sat down a little later ; 

Then with light hand turned the key 
Of the door Imagination, 
Praying that some inspiration 

Might be given unto me. 

Suddenly there stood before me, 
One whose face shone with a glory 

I had never seen before ; 
From my chair in haste upspringing, 
At his feet I was beginning, 

There to worship and adore ; 
But his hand, at once extendinjr, 
Raised me from my posture bending, 

While the notes of Shelley's sky-lark, 
At the gate of morning- singinp-. 
Had not sweeter music in them 

Than his voice ; as low and quiet, 
Thus he said : Nay, mortal, worship 
God alone ! Fm but His servant, 



342 OTHER POEMS, 

And am sent by Him to aid you 
In the task His Spirit gave you ; 

Therefore kneel to Him, and then 
I will write the message given, 
In reply to your petition, 

Thro' the Angel of the pen. 

At the desk he sat, and swiftly, 
O'er the paper lightly flitting. 

Went that wondrous angel hand. 
While I knelt beside him, praying 
God would keep his soul from saying 

Only what He should command. 
Soon he dropped the pen and lifted 

Up my face unto the light. 
And one glance I was permitted 
Of that countenance of splendor, 
With its heavenly eyes so tender. 

Ere he vanished from my sight. 
But that glance with new hope blessed me, 

And I yet can feel its power. 
As I read the words he left me. 

For the lesson of this hour. 

While the husbandmen were sowing 
Seeds upon the upturned earth, 

And the weaver's shuttle, going 
Back and to, bro't into birth 
Richer beauty, deeper mirth — 

Other hands were also sowing 
Seeds along Life's varied field ; 



OTHER POEMS. 

Where both wheat and tares are ^rowino- 

For the coming harvest yield. 
Other hands were also biiildino; 

In Life's Eden garden fair, 
Temples where the soul fulfilling 

Changeless laws, must worship there. 
Other hands were, likewise, weaving 

Robes of character within 
Life's great loom, while hearts were beatine- 

Threads of changeless woof therein. 

Human hearts even now are weavino-. 

As the moments come and g-o — 
Weaving, in the web of being. 

Their ideals, high or low. 
Youthful minds, each day beginning 
Early lessons at their spinning. 

From the "tree of knowledge" old. 
Threads of good or evil actions. 
Spinning from whatever maxims 

Or examples they behold. 
Winding, reeling, sizing, spooling, 
Thro' the early days of schooling. 

Till the light work is all done ; 
Then when comes their "choice of callino- '^ 
Forward do they speed the warping, 

Till at last the web is hung 
In Life's loom, where tho't and doino- 

Must weave in the varied woof, 
As the coming years bring to them 

Growth, experience, love and truth. 



343 



344 OTHER POEMS. 

Youths and maidens now before me, 

Standards lofty, excellent, 
Here I trust you've chosen ; nobly 

May you all their worth perfect ! 
Life may have deep joy and sweetness, 

If you strive to make it so ; 
Turning from all sin with fleetness, 

And be pure where'er you go. 
Keep you, lips, your heart, your mind. 

Pure from stain of every kind ; 
Then in truth you all will find 

That, a conscience clear possessing, 
You can make your lives a blessing 

To yourselves, your friends, mankind. 

As you onward speed your weaving. 
Oft you'll find the world deceiving ; 
Oft a "tangled thread" will grieve you, 
Many a friend beloved, must leave you. 
But be patient to the end — 
There is One e'er present Friend ; 
And tho' oft on broken reeds 
You will lean till your heart bleeds. 
Still look up and be not fearful — 
God can make your spirit cheerful, 
For He ever knows your needs. 
And tho' human love should fail you. 
Love Eternal will sustain you. 
And the hunger of your soul 
Change to peace's calm, sweet control. 



OTHER POEMS. 345 

Friends and patrons, all who hear this, 

Hark ! the angePs message now ; 
For he asks the question, fearless, 

Of each one : IVhat weavcst thou? 
Are we sadly, darkly weaving 

"Fig-leaves" to conceal our sin — 
Losing all the sweet communion, 

When the Lord doth enter iu, 
At the cool of day His garden 
In our hearts, where locks nor warden. 

May not keep His voice away? 
Are we in the "wilderness," 
Fed with husks and bitterness. 

Hiding from His face alway? 
Losing all the joy and blessing 
Of the faithful souls, possessing 

Life's rich, glowing Canaan Land, 
While we murmur at the kindness 
Wliich would lead us from our blindness 

Forth, tho' with correcting Hand. 

Are we sowing seeds of goodness, 

To bring forth immortal grain — 
Brightening lives of those around us, 

Till our own shall glow again ? 
Are we building holy temples 

In our souls, where God, our Lord, 
In the "glory of His presence" 

Is the object there adored? 
Or is our best worship given 
Unto things that reach not Heaven — 

22 



346 OTHER POEMS. 

Earthly idols, earthly fame — 
Pride, ambition, love of mammon. 
Envy, strife and selfish passion. 
Feeding fires of grief and pain — 
Quenching pure devotion^s flame. 

Are we weaving robes of beauty. 
Starred with flowers of love and duty? 

Lillies of humility, 
Pansies of benevolence, 
Roses dewed with heavenly grace ; 

While the ground-work charity, 
And the fresh green leaves of patience, 
Virtue, hope and faith, and temperance. 

Give the flower-hues richer glow ? 
Bringing to our lives the blessing 

Of the upright here below? 
And uplifting towards perfection 

In the world to which we go? 
For as stars of night here "differ 

In their glory," so the morn 
Of the resurrection with us, 

As we've loved the right or wrong. 
And we're recompensed for doing. 
While our daily walks pursuing. 
If we yield to sin's temptation, 
Its reward there's no escaping — 

Sure its penalty will fall — 
Sure we're blest /;/ our uprightness. 
As to Nature comes her brightness. 
Working for the good of all. 



OTHER POEMS. 347 

May we all with high ideal, 
Strive to make our true-growth real ; 
Honest be in all our dealings — 
Earnest, faithful in our "weavings," 

Living not for self alone. 

But with kindly hand and tone 
Cheer the sad ; the erring, lowly. 
Raise to heights of life more holy — 

Living out the love and precepts 
Of the Christ, our souFs true bridegroom. 

Who is seeking e'er to lead us 
Onward, upward, till the "Kingdom 
Of our God" shall dwell within us. 
Then when sorrows come to meet us — 
When life's trials rise to greet us. 
For we must have chiseling 
From the hand of discipline — 

Else our souls would never grow 
To the Saviour's glorious likeness — 

Else our life-webs ne'er would glow 
With his pattern's heavenly brightness, 

But if patiently we bear 
What our Father's wisdom sendeth, 

Knowing that His tender care 
Never slumbers, never endeth. 

Then when we in sorrow's night 
Of Gethsemane are kneeling, 

May receive the holy light 
Of the faithful and believing ; 
And His love's divinest sweetness 
Will give peace, strength to our weakness, 



348 OTHER POEMS. 

So that in our grief or pain, 
Lips of ours these words can frame — 
Holiest words beneath the sun, 
"Lord, thy will not mine be done! 

And when death, with sure hand steady. 
Cuts our lifers web from Time''s loom, 
May our bridal robes be ready 

For that Home beyond earth's gloom! 
Home of Light ! which God shall give us, 
Not as recompense for goodness — 
None its bliss might then attain, 
But as gift of endless loving 
For His children, ever proving 
Riches of His grace the same ! 
Glorious Home for all mankind, 
For the Saviour all will find ! 
There wilh joy in all our being, 
(Deeper bliss no soul can thrill 
Than oneness with the Father's will) 
Towards perfection higher speeding. 
With the dear ones God has given 
To our love on earth, in Heaven, 

Then with lips made pure from stain. 
With our Bridegroom, Christ, we'll frame 
Sweetest words our tongues can name, 
Thou, who art our soicVs glad sun ! 
Lord, thy will and ours are one ! 
Thou, who art Heaven's joy and glory, 



OTHER POEMS. 

Who dost claim our love most holy ! 
Here on Earth or Heaven begun, 
While the endless ages run, 
Lord, thy will /;/ its be done I 



349 




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